The Ties That Bind
by angerwasallihad
Summary: Our lives are a series of moments, tied together by the people we know, the choices we make, the relationships forged. An exploration of the people, choices, and relationships that created the Sharon Raydor we all know and love. An absolutely unapologetic backstory fic.
1. The River

**AN: Well here it is. The beginning. I would like to say that I by no means ship Sharon/Jack. However, this is a story about Sharon. How the people in her life, the choices she's made, the relationships she's forged, have all converged to make her who she is. Therefore, Jack is around, at least in the beginning. And I'd like to think that at some point they were at least marginally happy. Well, for a chapter or two, at least.**

**Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. I promise to put them away when I'm finished playing with them**

The Ties That Bind

Chapter I: The River

_Is a dream a lie if it don't come true _

_Or is it something worse _

_that sends me down to the river _

_though I know the river is dry _

_That sends me down to the river tonight _

_Down to the river _

_my baby and I _

_Oh down to the river we ride_

"Jack—No—stop it—"

A peal of laughter escaped Sharon's mouth as she scrambled away from her husband on the other end of the couch, an index card held triumphantly in a hand above her head, just out of his reach. He lunged for it again, and she launched herself off of the couch, running barefoot into the adjoining kitchen. She could hear Jack lumbering after her, his feet falling heavily on the linoleum as he, too, reached the kitchen. Before she had gotten far, Jack caught her left hand in his and pulled her back toward him, simultaneously reaching up and plucking the index card out of her right hand, still held aloft.

"I know I'm right, Shar," still holding her hand as he looked over the card. "See? Byers is liable. It says so right there." He finally dropped her hand to point triumphantly at the words on the index card, waving it in her face.

Sharon looked up at him slowly, mischief still evident on her face. "But only for wrongful death. They can't be held responsible in the personal injury suit." She snatched the card out of his hand, saying, "plus, you broke the rules. No tickling!" She ducked under his arm and hurried back out into the living room, plopping back down on the couch with the abandoned study cards. "Jack, you have to get it exactly right, or you won't pass," she called back at him, still in the kitchen. "All you really have to do is remember all the rules, and you'll do great."

Jack finally poked his head back around the corner, grinning. "But why should I remember all those rules when you do it so well for me?"

Sharon gave him a scathing look, and the grin slipped off his face immediately.

"Okay, okay," he held up his hands in surrender. "Just don't shoot, officer. I'm unarmed," he joked, coming fully into the room again.

Sharon shot him another look, clearly not finding him quite as amusing as he found himself. But before she could do more than throw him a withering glance, a wailing sound began just over their heads.

Jack and Sharon both looked up at the ceiling immediately, but Sharon didn't miss the dark expression that crossed her husband's face at the sound of their child's crying. She pushed it out of her mind for the moment however, and merely thrust the study cards at him as she got up from the couch and made her way over to the stairs.

"You keep going without me while I go take care of the baby." She pointed deliberately at the cards now in Jack's hand. "Make sure you get every part of the question right. Halfway doesn't count with the law." She turned away to go upstairs, but could practically feel him rolling his eyes at her retreating back. She smiled a little to herself. _Well, he wouldn__'__t be Jack if he didn__'__t need a little push to remember the rules_, she thought to herself ruefully. _They do say opposites attract__…_

She climbed the stairs quickly and made her way quietly down the hall to the door on the right. As she turned the knob, the crying hit a new and more desperate pitch. She left the door open behind her and let the light from the hall illuminate the room a little. Her son's room was blue and green, with little fish climbing the walls and decorating the crib. Her steps were muffled by a dark, thick carpet as she glided over to the crib, now illuminated by the yellow glow from the hall. Sharon pushed her hair back from her face and looked down at her wailing son.

"Well hello there, honey." She swooped down into the crib and pulled Ricky up to her, lifting under his arms. At six months, he usually slept through the night. She thought guiltily of her rather loud giggle fit and Jack's clomping pursuit. They were still so new at this. Sometimes they nearly forgot.

The baby quieted a bit when she lifted him into her arms, but still let out a constant whine. Humming softly, Sharon brought him over to the changing table, away from the door, her hand flicking on a dim lamp as they slowly traversed the room, Sharon softly bouncing and humming soothingly the whole time. Finally she laid him down on the table and began to change his diaper, still humming quietly to the baby as he whined.

Just as she was reaching under the table for a fresh diaper, the phone rang downstairs. She heard the low rumble of Jack's voice as he answered, but the words were indistinguishable. She continued changing the diaper, setting aside the dirty one and securing the clean one with a few safety pins. Suddenly, little Ricky's hand reached up and took hold of a dangling strand of Sharon's hair. She looked back up at his face, her work now finished, and smiled.

"What have you got there, little man?" Sharon gently prised her hair away from his sweaty grip, still smiling down at him. He was wide awake now and had stopped crying. She watched him silently for a moment. His bright green eyes were all Sharon, but the rest of him belonged to Jack. She could tell. That nose, the round face, sometimes even an expression or two she knew too well. Jack didn't see any of this, of course. Perhaps because he was just too close to it. Or because he spent so little time with the little one. But Sharon could see it every day.

She brought a hand down to her son's face now, wiping away the tears that had finally stopped flowing. Ricky just blinked slowly up at her, watching her carefully. Finally Sharon leaned down and picked him up again, perching him on her hip, a hand still gently supporting his back. She looked over at the crib and thought briefly of just putting him straight back down, but then looked back at the small child in her arms with his wide eyes and squirming feet and knew he wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Alright," she sighed quietly. She brought her face down on the top of his head, inhaling that indescribable baby scent through the little fuzz of hair on his scalp. She smiled. "Are you hungry?" she whispered into his skin. "Let's go downstairs with Daddy and find you some food." She walked smoothly back out into the hall and downstairs. It was quiet. When she reached the landing, she peeked across the entryway back into the living room. It was deserted, the study cards abandoned on the couch. She looked around in confusion, still gently bouncing the child in her arms, until her eyes lit upon a note on the end table to her left. She leaned over the note, reading it carefully without picking it up or ceasing her bouncing and rocking motion.

_Shar—_

_Went out with some of the guys. _

_Celebratory drink before the test this week. _

_Be back later. Don't wait up. _

—_J_

Sharon looked up and sighed heavily. _Celebratory drink before the test? Oh yes, _she thought darkly, _very helpful with the studying. _She turned away from the stairs and walked back toward the kitchen, whispering, "Let's go see what we can find for you, little man." She pulled a bottle out of the fridge, setting it in the practically permanent saucepan on the stovetop, letting it warm up. Ricky pumped his legs impatiently against her hip and back, babbling a little with a few fingers in his mouth. Sharon pulled him away from her body now, holding him under his arms and settling him on the counter beside her, well away from the stovetop. "I know, honey," she murmured soothingly. "But we have to wait for it to warm up. You don't like it when it's cold. And Mama can't make it for you on demand anymore." She looked down at her son as they waited.

He had been unexpected, it was true. It might even be said that he had thrown a wrench in her plans. She was quite sure at this point that she was never going to law school. But looking down at him now, squirming and babbling happily before her, she couldn't think of it that way. At twenty-seven, she liked where she was. She reached over to touch the bottle on the stovetop now. It seemed plenty warm. She turned off the stove and grabbed the baby off the counter, the bottle clutched in her other hand, and went back into the living room. Indeed, Sharon continued to herself, it was a very different life than what she had imagined for herself, but it worked for her. She'd been on the force for five years now, ever since she finished college. And she got to do what she loved; work the rules, work the system. She settled on the couch now, repositioning the baby so his head lay on her arm, bringing the bottle up in her other hand to meet his lips. That unapproachable distance and professionalism that usually isolated her from her co-workers and meant she had few friends had eventually worked to her advantage. She'd learned how to work it. Indeed, she thought with a small smile, it had been that unshakable composure and somewhat mysterious quality that had brought Jack to her in the first place—he always did love a challenge. But now, as a professional in a relatively new job that left her hated and distrusted by most of the force, that same professional distance and single-minded pursuit of the right thing had made her a valuable addition to Internal Affairs.

Sharon leaned back against the pillows, Ricky still sucking noisily at the bottle. Things were working out, it seemed. She closed her eyes and listened to the baby's little sounds, the smell and feel of her son in her arms relaxing her.

She woke with a start. Ricky had burrowed his face in between her upper arm and her breast, the empty bottle lying forgotten on the floor below them. Sharon looked around with alarm, unsure of what exactly had woken her. It had been loud, whatever it was.

She smelled him before her eyes completely focused on him. Jack. Shirt mussed, hair on end, walking steadily toward her. His eyes found her quite suddenly, and he laughed.

"Shar! Hey baby."

Quickly shedding the fog of sleep, Sharon met him with a steely glare. He knew how much she hated being called "baby."

"You didn' haveta wait up," he slurred slightly. "I said I'd be fine. Didn' cha see my note?" He grinned tipsily at her, still settled on the couch.

She continued to glare at him. "Yes. I got your note." She spoke below a whisper, her voice quiet and intense. "But I must confess some dismay upon returning downstairs to an empty house, nothing but a note indicating where my husband had disappeared off to in the dead of night." Jack looked like he was going to open his mouth to speak again, but she silenced him with a gesture. "The baby," she looked meaningfully down at the child still asleep in her lap, "and I fell asleep down here, and now we are going up to bed." She stood up slowly, walking towards him, careful not to jostle the baby. "You," she continued deliberately, "may stay down here." She slowly moved her eyes purposefully over Jack, from head to foot. "We are not having this discussion tonight. You're in no state." She brushed past him to the stairs, turning back one last time. "I trust you can set up the couch on your own." She continued up the stairs, leaving Jack still in the entryway, his mouth slightly open, as if unsure of what exactly had just transpired.

Sharon continued up the stairs, keeping her face impassive for the time being. She wasn't sure exactly what was going on with Jack. But it was getting worse, whatever it was, and she had to put her foot down at some point. Maybe a night on the couch would knock some sense into him. She settled Ricky in his crib now, watching anxiously to make sure he didn't wake. But he just slept on.

She walked across the hall to her own bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her. Jack had better pull it together, and soon, she thought to herself. Or that happy little life of which she had previously been thinking so fondly might disappear forever.

"Detective? Are you in there?"

Sharon jumped. It had been three months since she'd passed her detective's exam, but she still did a double-take at the title. She looked up at Lieutenant Davies standing in front of her desk. "Yes sir? I'm sorry. What can I do for you?"

Davies was tall, with dark brown hair that was beginning to grey slightly at the temples. He had a stocky build that spoke of his years on high school and college football teams. His face had a constantly ruddy complexion, and he wore that expression he seemed to reserve only for Sharon and his young children; an insincere smile that didn't meet his eyes, completed by a condescending tone.

"Yes, little lady. Good to have you with us. Captain says some rookie discharged his weapon and they need someone out there pronto." He leered down at her in what she supposed was meant to be concern. "You think you can handle one of these on your own now? I was going to send out Rodgers, but the Captain seems to think you can handle it." He didn't sound so sure. "You be alright on your own, young lady?" He winked and tried to give her what she thought might have been a jovial smile, but it still didn't reach his eyes and just came across as disgustingly patronizing.

She smiled coldly back. "I think I can handle that, sir." She held out her hand for the file. Davies ignored it and dropped the folder on the desk in front of her, turning back on his heel without another word. Sharon sighed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment in exasperation. That man.

It wasn't that Sharon hadn't encountered such blatant misogyny before. As the "rabid angry feminist" in a family and community of moderate conservatives back East, she'd handled her fare share of sexist, completely oblivious men. She was always quite aware that she was what men like Gerald Davies referred to as "a bitch" but she preferred to think of as "a woman with principles." But she'd never had someone quite so obvious about his sexism as a commanding officer before. And it was starting to grate on her nerves._ I was going to send out Rodgers, _Sharon thought derisively to herself. Rodgers had been there all of three weeks, compared to her now twelve weeks in Professional Standards. But of course young Detective Rodgers clearly had some inherent quality that Sharon didn't. _What was that again? Oh, right. He has a penis. _

She exhaled heavily again and stood up from the desk, stuffing the file into her bag and making her way to the elevators.

It wasn't that she hadn't expected the sort of treatment she received when she had graduated from the academy. She wasn't the sort of person who made friends easily, and since she refused to allow sexist comments to pass her by unchallenged, she knew she wouldn't really endear herself to the other officers. She'd made peace with that quite early on. But about a year ago, when it had become clear that this was no longer a temporary job, she'd had to re-evaluate. Children changed everything. So she'd traded in her law school dreams for a detective badge almost as soon as she could, and volunteered for Internal Affairs in the hope that she might do some good, put her skills to use, and have a career beyond just a meter maid. The awkward silences, the dirty looks, the whispered insults and general unhelpfulness of the Force as a whole were anticipated.

She just hadn't expected them to come from within the division as well.

As the only woman in Internal Affairs, in fact as one of only five female detectives on the entire force, she was often treated as dispassionately by her co-workers as the officers in other divisions. Strangely enough, however, it didn't matter to her much. In the short time that she'd been in the division, she had somehow found a way to use that Berlin Wall that popped up between herself and most of the other officers. Her job was to ask the tough questions, to say and do whatever was necessary to follow the rules of her own division and to make sure the other officers had remained within the law. In the last few weeks, she'd found a power in not caring if people liked her or not. And it worked for her.

Sharon had reached her car now, and climbed behind the wheel. She smiled a little to herself. Davies might think her utterly incapable of anything short of taking a dinner order, but the Captain didn't share his view. They had sent her out to the scene on her own this time. And that was progress.

It was after 6pm when Sharon finally made it home, Ricky babbling away in his carseat behind her. She turned into the drive in front of the house, sighing a little both with relief and trepidation at the sight of Jack's car already parked in the garage. She pulled up right behind his car and parked, swinging her bag over her right shoulder as she turned of the car and got out. She pulled out Ricky in his carrier and walked to the back door, keys still clutched in her other hand. When she finally maneuvered through the back door and into the kitchen, a heavenly smell of garlic and something asian met her nose.

"Something smells good," she called out to the house.

Jack rounded the corner from the living room almost immediately. "Hey, Hon." He smiled broadly when he reached her and kissed her cheek. "I made us some dinner. Stir Fry." He pointed at the table on the other side of the room already set for two.

She smiled faintly back and hung her purse and keys on the hook by the door. Ricky still seemed happy enough in the carrier, so she simply hoisted it up on the counter and turned him so she could keep an eye on him from the table. "Well it smells delicious. Is it ready?"

Jack was stirring something on the stove. "Yep. Go on and sit down, I'll bring it to you. There's a glass of wine for you already on the table." He gestured vaguely at the table again. "Oh! And these," he reached under the sink and pulled out a lovely bouquet of assorted flowers with a flourish, "are for you."

Sharon was feeling slightly bemused now, but took the flowers all the same, laying them on the table between the two place-settings. Perhaps she should make him sleep on the couch more often, if this was the response she should expect.

"All set."

Sharon heard the clatter of plates behind her as Jack began to serve up the meal. "Can you check the baby and make sure he's okay before you come over, Jack?" Sharon could see Ricky from where she was now sitting with a glass of wine, but still. It made her feel better.

"He's fine, he's fine." Jack's voice was unconcerned and friendly, but he'd barely looked at the baby before he brought their plates over. They sat and ate together, relatively without incident. They traded stories about their uneventful day, just as they had done at the dinner table for years. It was almost as if the night before hadn't happened. Almost.

"So how's the studying going, Jack?" Sharon kept her voice quiet, neutral, like she always did when starting a loaded conversation.

"It's fine, Sharon. Okay?"

Sharon hummed noncommittally. "Well, you certainly seemed to have some interesting study approaches last night," she said slowly.

Jack watched her for a long moment, as if thinking hard about what to say. "Yes. I guess so. It was just a bit of fun, Shar."

Sharon raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

"I studied for hours with you last night. I just needed to relax, okay? I shouldn't have snuck out of the house, I get that. But—"

"No. You shouldn't have." Sharon cut across him forcefully. "But more than that, you shouldn't be —"

Ricky let out a wail from his carrier, still perched on the counter.

Sharon saw a flash of annoyance cross Jack's face, and he cried out, "God, Sharon. Can't you shut him up?"

Sharon jumped up from her seat, glaring at Jack as she crossed the room. "Shut him up, Jack?" She spoke slowly, dangerously. "He's tired, he's hungry, and he just wants to be held. Are you going to fault him for that?" She picked him up and began to bounce with him around the room, soothingly. "Will you get him a bottle, please, Jack?"

He sighed heavily, as if she were asking him to give her a kidney, but got up and began preparing a bottle.

Ricky quieted a little in Sharon's arms, and she began to speak again. "I don't see you rushing to help with the baby, Jack." her voice rose a little in indignation. "Would it kill you to spend some time with him once in a while?"

Jack stood by the stove now, arms crossed and glaring. "He wants you, Shar. He doesn't want me."

Sharon's eyes narrowed and she whispered, "He doesn't want you? Or you don't want him?"

She heard him heave a sigh by the stove, but he remained silent for a few moments. Finally Jack looked up, his blue eyes finding her green ones. "I told you from the start that I didn't want kids. I wasn't cut out to be a father." Sharon made to interject, but he barreled on, "But you wanted them. I don't know if you really wanted them or if it was just some way to stick it to your Mom after what she said, and I don't really care. I'm just not father material. But I love you." He kept watching her steadily as he spoke. "I love you so much that sometimes it hurts when I think about it. I just can't say no to you. So I'm here. And I will stay here as long as you will have me. Because I love you, Sharon. But you can't ask me for more than I can give. I just can't do that."

Sharon stared at him in shock for a few seconds after he finished. Finally she said, "I think the bottle is ready now." Jack looked down at the stove and grabbed the bottle. Sharon turned away from him and walked into the living room, calling over her shoulder, "Come on, Jack." She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for him to follow her, then pointed at an armchair in the corner when he had joined her. He held out the bottle to her, but she shook her head. "Sit." She pointed at the armchair again. He sat, nervously. She kneeled down in front of him and settled the baby in his arms, arranging Jack's hands with her own, finally pulling up the hand holding the bottle and bringing it up to Ricky's face. Jack looked nervous and awkward, but Sharon just smiled. "I'm not asking for more than you can give, Jack. I'm just asking you to try."

She rose from her knees and settled on the couch across from her husband and son. She looked into Jack's eyes sternly. "I don't want you sneaking out of the house. I don't want you coming home drunk. And I would really like it if you could pass your exam on Friday. So you can try to do those things for me and come upstairs to bed, or you can stay down here on the couch. It's your choice." Sharon stared at him for a moment longer, then leaned down and took the baby and the bottle from him. She felt Jack sigh with relief. "Baby steps," she whispered to him with a wink. She settled the baby in the crook of her arm and brought the bottle back up to his lips as she walked across the room to the stairs. She turned back at the last moment. "Oh, and Jack?"

His eyes snapped back up to hers.

"I love you, too."

**Okay, that was fun. I know this didn't have a lot of action in it, but there was a need for a lot of exposition. The next chapter will move faster and have, you know, actual evidence of a plot. It's probably still too early for you to really put this together, but there is a lyrics/music-related theme. Mega kudos if you've already figured it out. **


	2. Cover Me

**Did someone ask for more baby!Ricky and Mama!Sharon? I may have overdone it a bit. This chapter is a little shorter, but I promise there is a method to my madness. **

The Ties That Bind

Chapter II: Cover Me

_Outside's the rain, the driving snow _

_I can hear the wild wind blowing _

_Turn out the light, bolt the door _

_I ain't going out there no more _

BOOM.

Sharon's eyes snapped open as a roll of thunder made the house shudder.

Almost immediately, sobs began to echo from across the hall.

She rolled over with a groan and sat up slowly. For a split second, lightning illuminated the dark room, revealing the other side of the bed to be cold and empty. She exhaled heavily, pushing away her worry about the empty bed and rose to her feet, running her fingers through her hair as she walked across the room. She glanced at the clock as she passed, squinting at it in the dark. _4:23 am. Well, _she thought wryly, _at least it's Saturday… _

She glided quietly across the hall, following the sounds of Ricky's distress. She pushed open the door slowly, peering through the darkness into the room. The soft glow of a night light in the corner and the occasional flash of lightning revealed her sobbing child, unsuccessfully trying to push himself into a crawling position only to fall back down on his face. Another crash of thunder made Sharon jump as she made her way over to the crib, and Ricky's cries intensified.

"Shhh, shhh. Honey, it's okay." She reached down into the crib and lifted him easily into her arms, turning him to face her and allowing him to settle his tear-stained face in the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. She swayed in place for a moment, and he quieted a little. She hummed soothingly and stroked his back in time with her swaying. Sharon slowly swayed with him over to the rocking chair in the corner, settling them both in it comfortably. Almost immediately, there was another boom, another crash, and the room was blindingly bright again for a brief moment. Ricky lifted his head from her shoulder and began to wail in distress again. Sharon shifted him gently in her arms, turning him on his back, his head tucked in the crook of her elbow, still rocking softly in the chair.

"Hi there, little man," she cooed softly as his eyes finally found hers, looking up at her from his new position. "I know it's scary, but it's just a little rain." Ricky quieted at the sound of her voice, low and soothing. She smiled and brought a hand up to his face, brushing away the tears on his cheeks. The rain continued to pound outside, punctuated by the booms and crashes of the boiling clouds above them.

Sharon liked the rain. it reminded her of happier times back home in Chicago as a child and teenager. A good storm like this one on a day like today, with nothing to do and nowhere to be was rare in LA. She leaned back and smiled a little to herself.

Ricky, however, clearly did not share her enthusiasm. He was sobbing again.

"Oh, honey, it's okay." She rocked a little more vigorously. _This is just not doing the trick, _she thought wearily. Sharon reached over to the small table beside her chair and switched on the lamp perched upon it, finally illuminating the room. She blinked a little at the sudden brightness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Then she reached down into the basket beneath the table and pulled out the first book her fingers found. She pulled it up into her lap and smiled when she saw what her hands had blindly selected. She shifted the baby slightly in her lap, so he was sitting up and could see the book in her hands. Her right hand snaked around his side to hold part of the book, the back of his head resting on her upper arm. his feet draped across her lap.

"The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind," she began to read slowly, "and another…" Ricky had fallen silent at the sound of her voice, and she pressed her lips softly to the top of his head as she turned the page slowly.

"His mother called him 'WILD THING!' and Max said 'I'LL EAT YOU UP!'" Sharon spoke deliberately into her son's ear, tickling his stomach as she nearly shouted the last words. Ricky giggled a little and squirmed, pumping his chubby legs in her lap.

"So he was sent to bed without eating anything." Her voice was calm and quiet again.

"That very night in Max's room a forest grew…" She turned a page. "And grew…" she turned another. "And grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around."

Thunder rolled again, and Ricky jumped in her arms, but he didn't cry this time, so she continued. "And an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Max and he sailed off through night and day…" Ricky's tiny hand came up to the book in front of them and touched it tentatively, then retreated. Sharon turned another page.

"…and in and out of weeks and almost over a year to where the wild things are." She rocked gently in the chair as she read, feeling her son start to relax against her. The thunder was just a soft rumble in the distance now, the storm moving away.

"And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws." Sharon read quietly, her lips against the side of little Ricky's head, whispering into his ear. His eyes had begun to droop.

"Till Max said 'BE STILL!' and tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all…" Ricky's eyes closed, and Sharon continued to rock gently as she read soothingly.

"…and made him king of all wild things. 'And now,' cried Max, 'let the wild rumpus start!'" Sharon looked down at her son, sleeping in her arms now.

"I'm not sure we're quite ready for the wild rumpus," she whispered softly, closing the book and leaving it on the table beside them. Slowly and carefully, she rose from the chair, flipping the lamp back off as she went, cautiously settling the baby back in the crib. He sighed softly as she released him, but didn't wake, so she silently padded back across the hall to her still-empty bed.

She climbed into the empty bed again, lying awake for a long time. There was a part of her, a very large part of her these days, that wished she could curl up and sleep forever. The rain pounding outside, the bed empty beside her, the anxiety she still felt at work after months in her new job; some nights it was more than she could handle.

When she woke again a few hours later and Jack was still conspicuously absent, she began to worry.

"Are you sure you haven't seen him? …Yes. Alright… Well if you do—…Yes. Thank you." She hung up the phone. She'd called everyone she could think of, and now all she could do was wait despite her increasing worry.

She had come home the previous evening to find an empty envelope stamped with "State Bar Association of California" on the entry table, torn open and gaping, with no indication as to what had been in it. She knew, of course, that it must have been his exam results from three weeks previously, but she had no way of knowing whether it had been good news or bad. It was nearly 10am now, and she hadn't seen or heard from him since Friday morning, the previous day, before work. Needless to say, she was worried.

Suddenly she heard a clatter at the front door, and a creak as it opened. She rushed down the hall towards the sound, just as Jack's voice boomed into the house. "Now where is that beautiful wife of mine?" Sharon stopped in the entry-way, leaning against a door-jamb as Jack set his keys down on the side table with a clatter.

"Jack," she said softly and without heat, "Where have you been? I was worried."

He looked up in surprise. "I was out with some guys. I left word with that lieutenant at the station. What's his name? Davis?"

"Davies?" Sharon nearly groaned. Of course he hadn't told her. _That sexist, egotistical, misogynistic p—_ "He didn't pass it on, clearly." She gestured down at the empty envelope still on the side table between them. "Any news to share?"

Jack looked at her seriously. "I'm sorry you didn't get the message, Sharon. Really, I am. But—" He grinned broadly. "I passed."

Her anxiety and irritation at his extended absence floated away as relief washed over her. She smiled and crossed the hall to him, taking his hands in hers. "That is the best news." He smiled back.

She stepped back from him now and remembered how worried she'd been. "But Jack. Where _were _you? I called everywhere."

Jack shifted uncomfortably in place. "Well, Shar, I went out with some of the guys, you know, and we tried out this new place. And it just got really late and I didn't want to wake you and the baby. And there was that storm. So I just crashed at Jerry's."

Sharon's eyes narrowed. That wasn't the whole truth, she knew. But she decided to let it go for the time being. "I'm really happy you passed your test, Jack. She turned away from him, back to the kitchen. "The office is all ready for you upstairs, so you can get started on your cover letter. There's a list of firms that we've discussed on the desk." She glanced back at him before she turned the corner. "I really wish you'd make use of this time. I know you've just passed the test and it feels like you can't catch a break, but this is valuable time. Please don't waste it." She continued around the corner, calling over her shoulder, "Ricky and I are going to the park after lunch. If you feel like a break, you're welcome to join us." She started to pour herself another cup of tea, waiting for his response.

She heard a heavy sigh back out in the hall, then—

"Alright, Sharon. I'll go get started. You two have fun at the park."

Sharon sighed quietly. "Oh, and Jack?" She walked back out to the hall, calling up to him as he started to climb the stairs. "When you're ready to tell me what's really going on, I'll be here."

"Little Lady, the Captain wants you."

Sharon gritted her teeth against the diatribe that she wanted to throw at Lieutenant Davies and simply rose from her desk, nodding in acknowledgement at the insufferable man as she passed.

Captain Barry was at least twenty years Sharon's senior, tall, red-headed, and balding. He reminded Sharon of her father in some ways, when he spoke overly-seriously in that intimidating tone, successfully scaring everyone in the vicinity until Sharon noticed the tell-tale twitch of his mustache as he held back a grin.

"Detective," Barry said gruffly, nodding her toward the chair in front of his desk.

Sharon sat, watching apprehensively as he walked around to his side of the desk and pulled out a file.

"This is very well done," he said now, pointing at the file that Sharon recognized as one of her reports from the previous week.

"Thank you, sir." She crossed her legs a little nervously.

"Just got a call," he continued a little harshly, "from someone in Central. They've got a woman down there making some accusations."

Sharon nodded slowly.

"They need someone down there right now. I thought you could go." He stopped, as if the issue was closed.

Sharon considered him for a moment. "Just one thing, Captain." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Are you asking me to go because I'm capable, or because I'm a woman?"

Barry stared across at her beadily. "Those two aren't mutually exclusive, you know. No matter what Davies says." He winked at her. "But you are going to have to take him with you. You haven't done one of these investigations before."

Sharon nodded reluctantly. "Is that all?"

Barry motioned back to the door. "Go on, get out of here."

"Looks like it's just you and me, hon."

Sharon smiled blandly and somehow managed not to roll her eyes. She and Lieutenant Davies were now in the car which he had insisted on driving, heading for the situation down at central. She looked out the window and remained silent for the short drive. The silence continued when they arrived and proceeded into the building.

"Not real chatty, today, are you, dear?"

Sharon nodded curtly. "I guess not."

Finally they walked through the doors, met with a cacophony of raised voices echoing across the squad room. They both stood there for a moment, taking in the scene. A young caucasian man in a uniform sat at a desk in a corner, with three detectives gathered around him in a protective formation, shouting angrily in the direction of two other detectives on the other side of the room. Everyone was speaking at once, so it was impossible to pick out more than a word or phrase here and there. "Liar," "idiot," and "unbelievable" jumped out at her though.

Silence suddenly fell when everyone in the room caught sight of the two new arrivals.

Sharon looked around the room once more, then spoke before Davies. "Where's the victim?"

Davies as well as all the other men in the room just stared at her. Then one of the men gathered around the uniformed officer sneered, "Who's the broad, Davies? Is it bring your trick to work day again, why didn't you tell me?" He guffawed vulgarly with the other detectives in the room.

Before the Lieutenant could respond, however, Sharon stepped forward, pulling out her badge. "Detective Sharon Raydor, Professional Standards. And you are?" She smiled tightly and waited.

"_Lieutenant_ Mike Jacobs, Detective." His attempt to emphasize his rank didn't go unnoticed. Sharon chose to ignore it.

She nodded, replacing her badge on her belt. Davies cut in before she could say more, however. "Gentlemen, you know the drill. Get out of our way. Officer," he pointed at the seated uniform officer, "You're with me." He looked around authoritatively. "Who made the complaint?" One of the detectives pointed vaguely at a door to the right.

Sharon and Davies proceeded together with the uniformed officer toward the door. Davies opened the adjacent door, revealing an empty interview room. "Have a seat, officer."

"Daniels," the young man supplied nervously.

"Daniels, then," Davies acknowledged irritably. "Sit. Wait. I'm sure your Union Rep will be along shortly." He closed the door and he and Sharon turned toward the other door.

Sharon reached out and turned the knob to go in, but Davies stopped her, holding up a hand.

"I can handle this. Go get started on the paperwork on those other detectives, sweetheart."

Sharon's head snapped up, and she pulled the door closed again with a snap. She looked over at the other men in the room, but they weren't paying attention. "It's _Detective_, Lieutenant." She spoke with that quiet intensity that belied the growing anger and frustration coursing through her. "Not 'hon', or 'little lady' or 'dear' or even 'young lady'. And absolutely _not_ 'sweetheart.' It's Detective. Or Raydor. I am just as capable as any other detective you might have brought along. In fact, I may be more capable. Clearly you believe that my sex precludes me from making any valuable contributions to this profession, but you are wrong. My gender, as well as my aptitude for this sort of work is about to make your job a hell of a lot easier. The captain wants me here, in that room. And I will not allow you to bulldoze me any longer. I suggest you sit back and watch." She turned the knob and stepped into the room before the Lieutenant had time to do more than gape at her in surprise.

The interviews went well. Partly because Davies now seemed afraid that if he opened his mouth she might treat him to another tirade on professional behavior. It might have been entertaining if the situation hadn't been so serious. But the interviews went well, and it soon became clear that young Officer Daniels had made a serious error in judgement and been excessively stupid in his decision to pat down a young lady for jay-walking. It was an open-an-shut case, much less complicated than the Captain had lead Sharon to believe.

Lieutenant Davies drove them back to the station after they had finished. Sharon didn't miss his frequent nervous glances her way throughout the short drive.

"You can stop looking at me like that, Lieutenant. I've said all I needed to say, clearly."

Davies quickly looked back at the road. "Oh. Right. Okay." He looked a little embarrassed.

Sharon grinned a little to herself. It seemed the element of surprise had worked in her favor this time around. He seemed so bewildered by her abrupt change in attitude that he appeared to have decided to just go with it. For the time being, at any rate.

Ricky was giggling madly in the car seat behind her, his feet bouncing wildly. Sharon grinned at him in her rearview mirror.

"What's so funny back there, huh?" She pulled to a stop at a traffic light and turned in her seat, sticking out her tongue at him briefly before turning back to face the front. He let out another peal of laughter, and she grinned.

The day had turned out alright after all. She'd managed to file all her paperwork on that assault case, Jack had made a nice stack of resumes and cover letters over the weekend, and Ricky had made it through daycare today without having a meltdown, a rarity that was thankfully becoming more common. It looked like they were going to be alright. _If only I could get Jack to look at the baby, _she thought wistfully. But they were taking it one day at a time.

She thought back to her sleepless morning on Saturday and breathed a sigh of relief. She was by no means worry-free, but it was coming together. That morning she had felt as if she were quickly spinning out of control with problems on all fronts. But this, she could handle. So long as nothing else went wrong.

She pulled into the driveway slowly. Jack wasn't there yet, but it was still early. She parked and started to methodically gather everything out of the car. Purse over one shoulder, Ricky's bag over another, keys in her right hand, baby carrier in her left. She was walking down the side of the house toward the back door when she saw movement at the front of the house. Confused, she immediately changed course to investigate.

Sharon walked slowly, laden with the contents of her hands and arms as well as with the weight of the day. Finally she rounded the corner and came to stand on the front steps. Identical green eyes stared back at her.

Sharon's mouth opened in shock, and she nearly dropped Ricky in surprise.

"Mother."

***Dodges under the table to avoid flying objects* Sorry! But I had to. I promise to update quickly, though. Anyone figured out our music theme yet? **


	3. The Price You Pay

**I'm terribly sorry for the delayed update, lovelies. I got called in to teach, and my week basically went to hell. But here we are. For those curious, the flashback chunk was newly appropriated here from my one-shot "Darkness" If you'd like to see it in a more extended context, go check it out. And if you think it looks familiar, that's where it came from. Since it's mine to begin with, I don't think it's really stealing…**

The Ties That Bind

Chapter III: The Price You Pay

_You make up your mind, you choose the chance you take _

_You ride to where the highway ends and the desert breaks _

_Out on to an open road you ride until the day _

_You learn to sleep at night with the price you pay _

"Mother."

Sharon stopped dead in her tracks, staring. She blinked slowly as her mother looked back at her calmly.

"Hello, Sharon." Her mother slowly rose to her feet, her gaze never wavering.

Sharon took a deep breath and gathered her wits again, pushing past her mother, arms still sagging under the weight of the baby-carrier, diaper bag, and her own purse. She fumbled for a moment with the keys, resolutely not looking at her unexpected guest, and finally opened the front door, pushing it open with a little kick and shuffling inside. She swung the bags from her left shoulder heavily to the ground, leaving them on the bottom steps immediately to her left as she walked in the door. She left the door open behind her as her mother followed her into the house. Sharon's keys dropped to the side table in the hall, and she continued into the house toward the kitchen, Ricky in his carrier still held securely in her right hand. She heard the front door close firmly behind her, then the click of her mother's heels following her down the hall. Sharon reached the kitchen and put her son, still happily pumping his feet and grinning up at her, up on the counter next to the sink.

Finally she turned back to her mother still proceeding down the hall toward her. Sharon reached absently along the wall beside her, flicking on the kitchen light, illuminating a portion of the hall before her and the room behind her, finally taking in the full image of her mother in front of her.

Elizabeth Gleason was petite, elegant; an older, smaller version of her daughter. Sharon's own bright green eyes stared back at her from her mother's face. The same red hair framed her face, Elizabeth's pulled back into a sophisticated bun. She moved with the grace that left no one in any doubt of her upbringing.

Sharon's eyes followed her mother as Elizabeth finally proceeded into the kitchen and came to a stop beside her grandson, smiling down into the carrier where Ricky was still happily settled.

"Mother," Sharon said again quietly, "what are you doing here?"

Her mother didn't look at her, still smiling down at Ricky, grabbing hold of one of his pumping feet and shaking it affectionately. "I came to see my grandson, of course. You've been hiding this little man away as if you don't want anyone to see him! I can't see why… You're just the cutest little thing, aren't you?" Elizabeth spoke in that voice that Sharon knew she reserved for young children.

Sharon closed her eyes for a moment, taking another deep breath. "So you just got on a plane and flew here all the way from Chicago without a word?"

Elizabeth sighed and finally looked back up at Sharon. She matched Sharon's calm, quiet tone now. "Well, to be perfectly honest dear, I wasn't sure you'd take my call. I know you're upset, but it's been over a year." She stepped away from Ricky now, looking up earnestly at Sharon. "I had to hear about Ricky's birth from your sisters. Your father and I didn't even know you'd made detective until your brother mentioned it a week ago. We're missing out on your life, Sharon. And you missed Christmas."

Sharon looked away, swallowing hard and bringing a hand up to her forehead in that unconscious gesture of the tears that were threatening to fall. She tried unsuccessfully to push down the memories her mother's words evoked. Her eyes closed as the memory washed over her.

_She always loved Christmas; she'd been looking forward to this dinner particularly, grateful that she and Jack had arrived at her parents' house before all her siblings and nieces and nephews. It was so wonderful to be back East with her parents. At least she had been. Before the dinner had gone completely to hell. _

_She took a deep breath. "Well Mother, Dad, Jack and I have something we'd like to talk to you about." _

_Her parents looked at each other. Her father sighed. "Just one moment. I'll go get my checkbook." He made to get up. _

_Sharon put her hand on his arm to stop him. "Oh no, Dad, it's nothing like that." She reached over with her other hand to take Jack's under the table. "Jack and I are going to have a baby." _

_Jack squeezed her hand under the table and they both looked expectantly at her parents. George and Elizabeth smiled faintly. "That's wonderful," her mother said quietly. _

"_Yes," said her father without enthusiasm. "Absolutely lovely. Should I go get the pie, dear?" _

_Sharon never knew how she managed to sit through the rest of that dinner. Her favorite apple pie turned to cardboard in her mouth as her parents attempted to make small talk, blatantly ignoring the bombshell Sharon had just dropped. Finally it seemed everyone was finished, and Sharon and Elizabeth began clearing the table. Sharon leaned down and whispered in Jack's ear, "Go take a walk. Now." _

_Jack looked up at her, incredulous. "Now? It's freezing! And dark. And there's snow everywhere!" _

_Sharon grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him back out into the foyer. She looked at him fiercely. "They won't have this conversation if you are here. And we NEED to have this conversation. So you need to get out of here. I don't care what you do. Go make a damn snowman. Act like that idiotic West Coast guy confronted with snow I know you've been suppressing all day. Go gawk at all the fancy houses around here. I don't care. Just get out of here." Jack looked for a moment like he was going to fight, but gave in when her fingernails began to dig into his arm. He turned away, grabbed his coat at the door, and headed into the night. _

_As soon as the door shut behind him, Sharon stalked back into the dining room to find the table cleared and her parents sitting expectantly. Sharon sighed heavily and stood in the space between Jack and her own empty seats. She leaned forward, spreading her fingers across the wooden surface, facing her parents. _

"_Okay. Let's hear it."_

_She looked down at her hands and waited. She heard some whispering on the other side of the table, closely followed by the sound of a chair scraping back and someone rising to their feet. She glanced up through the hair that had fallen into her face just in time to see her father's retreating back. _

"_Honey, why don't you sit down so we can talk?" Sharon's mother's voice was meant to be soothing, but it just made Sharon angry. _

"_No," she said quietly, head still bowed. "We're going to talk like this. Right now."_

_She felt, rather than heard, her mother shift uncomfortably across from her. "Well, honey, obviously we're concerned."_

_Sharon fumed silently for a moment before pushing herself back fully onto her feet and glaring across at her mother. "'We're concerned,' Mother? Honestly?" Her voice was low, dangerous, and sarcastic. She pointed angrily in the direction of George's retreat. "_He_ isn't in this conversation. _He _didn't even have the guts to stay and have this out!" _

_Her mother looked at Sharon directly and said cooly, "I don't see your husband staying to 'have this out' as you put it." _

_At this, Sharon nearly roared with frustration, backing away from the table to make room for her anger. Her voice rose. "I practically had to push him out that door! Because I knew _you_ wouldn't have this conversation if he was here! Of course, Dad was only too happy to leave, you barely had to ask! He practically skipped out of here. Perfectly content to leave all the baby talk to the women." She was pacing now and gesticulating wildly. _

_Elizabeth sighed and smoothed her hair back from her face calmly. "Well of course he left, honey. It's hardly appropriate to discuss your predicament in front of men. Obviously he's a gentleman." She carefully emphasized the last sentence, leaving Sharon in no doubt about the implication. _

"_But that's my point, Mother. It isn't like that anymore. Men are in the delivery room. Women are the breadwinners. Women are out on the force now. We can be and do whatever we want! Don't you want that for us?" Sharon shook her head. Somehow it always came back to this. The same fight, going on ten years now._

_Elizabeth raised her voice now as well. "No, Sharon. I don't. I don't want people shooting at you, I don't want you with a gun in your hand, and I sure as hell don't want you supporting your husband! It's not the way things are done. So no, I don't want you to be whatever you want to be. I want you to be what you can be. And you can't be a police officer. We're not built for it, Sharon." _

_Sharon sighed and walked back over to the table, leaning over it as before. "Mother," she began quietly, "Why are we still having this fight? There have been women on the police force since 1910. The first female officer served in L.A., Mother. This is not anything new. I want to help people, to save them from bad things. And I will not apologize to you for making the world better, or for helping my husband achieve his dreams, or for believing that I can do anything if I work for it." Sharon finally looked up at her mother. "But that's not what I want to talk about tonight." She stood up and brushed her hair back from her face. She looked across at her mother intently. "Mother, I'm having a baby. And Jack and I are so happy. We are so excited, and we've started picking out names and looking at houses. We came here so happy to tell you—" Sharon stopped and looked away for a moment, drawing in her lips the way she always did when she was holding in emotions. "At the very least, we thought you might be happy for us." _

_Her mother took a deep breath. "Like I said, Sharon. We're concerned. Are you sure that you want this? It will change everything. You'll lose everything you say you've worked so hard for.—"_

"_Wait," Sharon interrupted. "What are you talking about?"_

"_Well of course Jack would have to give up on law school and you all would have to figure out another arrangement. And you wouldn't get to, what was it, 'be and do whatever you want.' Children limit your options, honey. Are you sure you want to give up on all that and stay home for the next twenty years?" _

_Sharon looked over at her mother, disbelieving. "There you go again, Mother. It's not like that anymore. Yes, we've decided to put my own law school dreams on hold for the moment, but I'm not quitting. Women work and have children now. All the time. But let's set that conversation aside for a moment. That's not what's bothering you. What is your real problem?" She looked intently across the table, curious now. _

_Elizabeth clenched her hands on the table, seeming to steel herself. "Well Sharon, I'm just not sure that you should be a mother."_

_Sharon reeled. Of all the things she had anticipated, it wasn't that. "Mother, why on earth would you say that?" She asked quietly, fighting back tears and refusing to let anyone see how upset she was. _

"_Well dear, you know your father and I are so proud of you. You've done so many wonderful things with your life, and you're only twenty-six. A wonderful education, a stable living—whatever I may say about your professional choices, you have always been able to support yourself, which is more than your siblings can say—good relationships; you've done so well. But sometimes we worry that you've allowed your ambition and independence to rob you of emotional openness and intimacy. Sharon, we love you, but you're distant; cold. And we just don't think that that is the right environment for a child. Now of course, we would be happy to help you make arrangements to find this child a happy home. Sara and James have been thinking of having another child, and I know they'd be happy to give this little one a home. Or your father and I would be delighted to take on a grandchild as a permanent resident. We're not as young as we once were, but I know we could handle it. We'd really love to keep your little one in the family. You just tell us what you decide." Elizabeth stopped now, and made to stand up, as if the conversation were now over. _

_Sharon was still standing on the other side of the table, staring in utter shock at her mother. They had never been close, it was true. Sharon had never been the sort of person who confided things in her mother. Elizabeth had always dictated rather than discussed, and never seemed to understand Sharon's desire for independence. When Sharon had moved out West for college, it had gotten worse. The phone calls were short, visits few and far between, and soon they had been reduced to quick embraces and empty small talk. But never had Sharon imagined that they would find themselves here, with her mother assuming responsibility for her unborn child, assuring her that 'the little one' would find a more loving home than Sharon could give her. She had been disappointed, anxious, excited and irate tonight. But now she was heartbroken._

_Sharon looked over at her mother, blinking back tears and attempting to hold herself together. She turned and walked away without a word, climbing the stairs to her childhood bedroom. She picked up the phone on the nightstand and made one quick call. She looked out the window and saw Jack shivering on the front steps. That poor West Coast man stuck outside in a Chicago winter. She'd have to make this up to him. She gathered their things together and stumbled back down the stairs. Her mother was still where Sharon had left her, standing unsurely in the dining room. Elizabeth came out when she heard Sharon descending the stairs, watching her silently. "Thank you for the dinner," Sharon said quietly. "But Jack and I should go. Merry Christmas." And before her mother could utter a word, Sharon swept out of the house and into the waiting cab, pulling the waiting and bewildered Jack in behind her._

Sharon opened her eyes, her throat sore and eyes shining with unshed tears. Both women had their backs turned to the baby still in the carrier on the corner, their eyes boring into each other, both clearly thinking of the last time they'd spoken. Sensing that their attention was otherwise occupied, Ricky began to squirm and whine behind them. Sharon immediately turned back to her son at the sound. She pushed her hair behind her ears as she leaned over him and easily released the straps securing him with a practiced hand.

"Hi there, little man," she murmured soothingly as she pulled him into her arms, bringing him up against her chest, his little hands coming up to grasp her shirt tightly. "You're okay." She bounced him gently in her arms and he quieted almost immediately. "See? You're okay." She turned back to her mother behind her now, and saw a strange look on Elizabeth's face for the briefest of moments before her mother seemed to become aware of it and arranged her face back into a more neutral expression.

"Well, Mother, you're right. I'm still very hurt." Sharon looked around the room without really seeing it, searching for the right words as she unconsciously continued to sway and bounce with the child in her arms. She'd been preparing for this conversation for over a year, but at the same time she wished she'd had more warning. Sharon always liked to have a plan, and this evening was turning out much differently than expected. "And I really wish you had called. But it is nice to see you." She smiled tightly.

Her mother smiled back hesitantly and began to speak again. "Sharon, I—"

But Sharon shook her head crisply. "There's a conversation we need to have, I know. But right now is not the time for it." She glanced down meaningfully at Ricky still in her arms, his head now resting against her shoulder. She made a brave stab at a genuine smile now. "Jack and I would be happy to have you stay here for a few days. Do you have bags somewhere?"

Elizabeth seemed to relax a little before Sharon's eyes. "I took out a room at a hotel in town. But of course I'd rather stay here with you. You have a lovely home here."

Sharon nodded in thanks. "You can stay in the guest room upstairs. I can probably catch Jack before he gets home and he can pick up your bags on the way." She proceeded more fully into the kitchen. "I wasn't planning on having company tonight, but I'm sure I can come up with something for dinner." She hovered awkwardly in front of the refrigerator, Ricky perched on her hip. She felt her mother approach behind her, then closed her eyes and flinched slightly as her mother's hand brushed her shoulder. Whatever her outward behavior, the leaden tension of the situation curled in her stomach, belying the apparent light and comfort of the present situation.

"Sharon, could I hold the baby for a while?"

Sharon glanced up from the contents of the refrigerator, the request taking her by surprise. She didn't really have friends who were around enough to spend time with her son. Her siblings didn't visit, at least not since Ricky had been born. Jack all but ignored their son. In fact, Sharon realized with surprise, apart from that evening a few weeks ago when she had nearly forced Ricky into Jack's arms in the living room, she wasn't sure Ricky had ever been held by anyone other than herself and the day-care workers in his eight months of life. Rationally, she knew her mother's wasn't an unusual request; but it still fell strangely on her ears.

"Oh. Ummm. Yes, alright."

She stepped towards her mother and gently untangled Ricky's small hands from her shirt and hair, holding him out to Elizabeth. Ricky's hands and feet pumped wildly as he passed through the air toward his grandmother for the first time. Sharon's mother took the child into her arms happily and cradled him against her chest.

Sharon watched the two of them for a moment, a little unsure what to do next.

"Go on, Sharon. I've got him. You do what you need to do."

Dinner that night was unexpectedly easy and uneventful; Jack had come home with news of a firm putting out some feelers for him. For the first time in months, Sharon had been able to put dinner together without interruption with her mother watching the baby. Somehow despite all the awkwardness of the entire situation, Jack, Sharon, and Elizabeth had managed to keep the conversation light and friendly.

More than anything, Sharon was grateful for Jack seeming to have pulled it together this week. Perhaps it was only for her mother's benefit, but it gave her hope all the same. He was charming and solicitous and seemed almost like the man she'd married who had disappeared ten months previously. By the time dinner was over, that ball of leaden tension in her stomach seemed to have loosened some.

Jack suddenly stood up from the table. To Sharon's surprise and delight, he came around the table toward Elizabeth, who had just finished giving Ricky a bottle. "How 'bout I take that little guy off your hands and up to bed, Elizabeth? You and Shar probably want to talk, huh?" Sharon and Jack's eyes met across the table. She could have kissed him in that moment. His awkwardness was still subtly visible to her, his discomfort at the thought of taking the baby, but he was pushing past it. It was unbelievably sweet.

"Oh, that's quite alright, dear," Sharon's mother smiled tightly at him. "I'm sure Sharon can handle all that. You go on, have a drink in the other room." She shooed him toward the living room. "We'll take care of all this in here."

Sharon's delight turned icy in her chest. She could have screamed at her mother in that moment, the thick ball of tension tightening in her abdomen again. Her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white beneath the table. She caught Jack's apologetic look as he exited the room, and sighed.

"Mother," she whispered, looking down at her still-white knuckles, "Jack is perfectly capable of putting the baby down." Well, it was true. He might never have done it before, but her husband was certainly _able_ to do it. That had never been the issue.

"Oh, I'm sure he is." Elizabeth glanced over at her daughter as she spoke. "But that doesn't mean he should have to do it. You're Ricky's mother."

Sharon gritted her teeth and stood up from the table abruptly, turning away from her mother to reign in her desire to scream in frustration. Maybe Elizabeth should have married Jack. Well, if she didn't hate him so much. Sharon inhaled deeply and turned back to her mother, her face a mask of neutrality again.

"Let me take the baby."

She pulled her son away from her mother before she'd even finished speaking and took him upstairs. She rocked him gently in his room for a few minutes, humming softly and considering her next move with her mother downstairs. Despite her growing reputation at work, confrontation was not something Sharon enjoyed. Quite the contrary. Making it clear to co-workers and people she barely knew that her pursuit of the truth couldn't be side-tracked was one thing; confronting her mother, who knew all the buttons to push was quite another.

Ricky's breathing was slow and even now, fast asleep in her arms. She stood slowly, careful not to jostle him, and placed him in the crib. He squirmed a little at the loss of contact, but didn't wake. Sharon tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned over him one last time, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She lingered there for a moment, breathing him in. Finally she turned away and proceeded back downstairs.

She passed Jack in the living room on her way back to the kitchen. He was just sitting sheepishly in a chair, looking almost as young as the night she'd met him. Their eyes met and he suddenly looked apologetic.

"Go on upstairs, Jack," she murmured. "You know she won't talk if you're here."

He got up without a word, no sign of an argument; just a swift peck on the cheek as he passed.

Sharon swallowed hard once he had disappeared, and walked back down the hall to the kitchen.

Her mother was at the sink, deliberately scrubbing the dishes and putting them aside. Sharon picked up a dishtowel and came to stand beside her, falling into an easy rhythm as she started to dry the dishes.

"Mother," she began softly, looking down at the dish she was drying, "I need you to understand that if you're going to be in our lives—mine and Jack's and Ricky's—you just can't say things like that." She reached over to take another plate from her mother. "You can't butt into our dynamic that way." Sharon stopped, waiting for her mother to finish scrubbing a pot in the sink.

"I'm not going to pretend to understand what you have out here, Sharon." Her mother scrubbed vigorously at the pot before her. "You go out there every day with a gun and a badge, risking your life for low-lifes and idiots. You spend your days practically at gun point, doing a job you never really wanted so that you can support your husband." She threw down the scrubber violently and finally looked up at Sharon beside her. "He should be doing that for you and Ricky." Her voice nearly cracked with indignation. "You deserve better than that."

Sharon reached over and took her mother's hand, still slick with water and soap, in hers. "Mother," she whispered softly, looking into her face earnestly now, "you're right. You don't understand my life right now." She pressed her mother's hand between both of hers. "As for what I deserve, well…" She trailed off, looking down at their joined hands for a split second, then back up at her mother. "I think I deserve a career just as much as Jack does. I deserve a family if I want it and a husband who loves me. I deserve respect from my co-workers and a paycheck at the end of the month. I deserve to be able to take charge of my life without sacrificing my femininity, and to be a mother without surrendering my strength. But more than all that, I deserve a mother who can support me in getting what _I think _I deserve, rather than what she does." Sharon stopped and looked expectantly into Elizabeth's face.

Sharon's mother slowly pulled her hand out from between both of Sharon's and reached across her daughter toward the dishtowel Sharon had discarded next to the dishes. Elizabeth dried her hands silently for a minute, not looking at Sharon. Then she dropped the towel back on the counter and looked up at her daughter, her eyes shining slightly with tears. She brought both her hands up to cup her daughter's face gently.

"Of course you do." Elizabeth rubbed Sharon's cheek softly with one of her thumbs, still cradling her face. "Seeing you with Ricky tonight, I knew I was wrong about you. And I'm sorry." Sharon opened her mouth to speak again, but her mother shook her head, bringing a finger up to Sharon's mouth. "Let me finish. I don't understand your life. I think we can both agree on that. But I would like to try." She lowered her hands again, releasing Sharon's face. "Help me understand," Elizabeth continued. "Let me stay for a while."

Sharon blinked a few times confusedly. "I already said you could stay, Mother, remember?"

"You did. But I meant maybe longer than a day or two. I've missed out on so much time with you and Ricky. And I want to understand your life here." Sharon's mother's eyes were almost pleading now.

Sharon smiled. A real, genuine smile. "Alright. One week." She held up a finger significantly. "But you have to remember what I said. And no butting in. You're a guest here. Deal?"

Elizabeth grinned back. "Of course."

Sharon gathered the clean dishes and put them away quickly; there weren't many.

Honestly she was surprised that this hadn't turned into the giant fiasco their last conversation had been. Maybe it was the fact that they were on her turf this time, somewhere her mother had never been. Or perhaps they'd both been sobered by more than a year without contact. Whatever it was—

"Oh, and Sharon?"

Sharon's brain stopped mid-thought. Perhaps she had written off 'total fiasco' too soon.

"Hmmm?" She turned back to her mother.

"I've agreed to butt out for you and Ricky. But so we're clear: I haven't changed my mind about Jack."

Sharon raised her eyebrows. "Changed your mind about what?"

Elizabeth smirked.

"I still hate him. With a vengeance."

**Not quite so cliffy this week :D I felt sort of bad for leaving you all hanging for so long. I'm sorry there was less Ricky/Mama Sharon, but I promise more is coming. But guys… how about that episode? Have you all recovered from Mary's hilarity/Dorothy Emerson's sudden reappearance? I know I haven't. Come fangirl in my inbox or on my Tumblr. I'm always up for some fangirling. **


	4. Working on a Dream

**Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, particularly the guest reviewers and SChimes and Rosabelle, who listen to my freak-outs. This one's a little heavy on the angst and Mama!Raydor toward the end just for them :D**

The Ties That Bind

Chapter IV- Working on a Dream

_Now the cards I've drawn's a rough hand, darling _

_I straighten the back and I'm working on a dream _

_I'm working on a dream _

_Come on! _

_I'm working on a dream _

_Though sometimes it feels so far away _

_I'm working on a dream _

_And I know it will be mine someday _

Whispers followed Sharon and Detective Rodgers as they passed through the station. She tried to ignore them and walk deliberately past the mass of uniformed officers accumulated there. The immediate change in mood as they passed still took her by surprise; she'd never been a popular, mercurial sort of person, but the overt dislike was something she wasn't sure she'd ever get used to. Beside her, Rodgers seemed equally uncomfortable, his eyes flashing around the room, almost as if seeking out all the exits for a quick getaway.

Eventually they made it to their destination, the office of a Lieutenant Ross. The door was open, and Detective Rodgers poked his head in before Sharon.

"Lieutenant?" Sharon followed him into the office now, and they both flashed their badges. "Detectives Rodgers and Raydor, FID."

The lieutenant glanced up, annoyance flashing across his face as he took them in. Ross looked to be in his forties, with balding reddish hair and an almost comically contrasting thick mustache. He sighed heavily and got to his feet behind the desk. "Like I told your captain, detectives, there's really no reason for you two to come all the way over here. Some idiot suspect makes some bogus claim about one of my men, and you all just invite yourselves over."

Sharon stepped forward now and spoke for the first time. "We're just doing our job sir." She tried to smile agreeably over at Ross. He continued to scowl. "Well where's the officer in question? We should speak to him first."

Ross exhaled again in obvious frustration. "Officer Rodriguez is waiting for you in an interview room with his Union Rep."

Sharon's head snapped up. "Officer Eliseo Rodriguez?"

The two men both glanced at her curiously. "Yes. Officer Rodriguez made a routine traffic stop—"

Rodgers cut across the lieutenant quickly, "Thank you, sir, but we'd prefer to hear it from him directly." Still looking curiously at Sharon, he began to back out of the room.

Ross closed his mouth and Sharon could see him almost roll his eyes. "Then you two had better get to it." The lieutenant gestured back out the door.

As they walked back through the door and toward the interview room Ross had indicated, Rodgers looked at her sideways. "What was that? Do you know our guy?"

Sharon shrugged. "We were on patrol together a while back. He's a good man."

They reached the doorway to the room. "Then why don't you take the officer on your own. I'll get a statement from the complainant."

Sharon nodded and pushed open the door, entering alone. Rodriguez was sitting at the table, visibly sweating next to his Union representative, a rather uninteresting young man in a suit. Rodriguez looked up at her as she entered and sat down, pulling out a notebook and a tape recorder.

"Raydor," Rodriguez said with surprise. "You're the rat squad goon?"

She smiled indulgently. "Personally, I prefer the term 'Detective,' but yes. I'm here to take your statement." She picked up her pen and clicked it deliberately. "It's good to see you, too. Why don't we just get started, Eliseo?" She looked over at the nameless Union representative across from her, and he nodded in agreement.

"Alright." Sharon pressed the record button on the machine between them. "In your own words, please describe what happened today."

Rodriguez took a deep breath. "I was on patrol with my partner this morning downtown. Traffic stops, mostly. And we pulled over our suspect, Jerry Vine, for erratic and reckless driving. He blew through a traffic light without even tapping the breaks and nearly clipped a couple of pedestrians, going about twenty miles over the speed limit."

Sharon raised her eyebrows across from him as he spoke, taking a few notes. "And who was driving the patrol car? You or your partner?"

"I was driving. My partner, Jim Pickens, was in the passenger seat."

Nodding, Sharon noted the other officer's name carefully. "And then what happened?"

Rodriguez looked at the Union man beside him, who nodded.

"We pulled the guy over, and I got out of the car to take care of it. I asked him for his license and registration, started to ask him what the hell he was doing. And he was very agitated. He shouted profanities and got out of the car suddenly. I asked him to step back into his vehicle, but he refused. I asked him to turn around and place his hands on the car. He continued to advance upon me. So I restrained him by force."

Sharon nodded as he finished speaking, finishing her own notes. She looked back up at Rodriguez. "And your partner, officer—" She consulted her notes again. "—Pickens. He remained in the patrol car this entire time?"

The officer across from her nodded. "Well—When I was forced to restrain him, Pickens got out and helped me get the suspect into the patrol car. But before that, yes. He stayed in the car."

Taking note of this last addition, Sharon looked back down at the table. "So your statement is that the injuries Mr. Vine sustained," she flipped back through her notes from the information her captain had given her earlier, "the laceration on his left cheek, the bruise on his lower right abdomen, and the other minor abrasions on his right hand and his neck, were all the result of his resisting arrest?" She smiled lightly across at both the men sitting across from her.

Both men looked at each other. Rodriguez whispered something inaudible to his companion, who nodded stiffly and whispered back equally quietly. Then the officer looked back over at Sharon, finally replying, "yes. That is my statement."

Sharon nodded yet again, trying to maintain the easy and non confrontational mood of their conversation so far. "You don't have anything more to add?"

Another look passed between the two men. The significance in their eyes did not escape Sharon's notice.

"That's all he has to say, detective." The Union representative spoke for the first time, with a tone of finality.

Sharon nodded one final time. "Alright, then, gentlemen. We'll be in touch." She turned off the recorder between them, and gathered it, along with her notes, pen, and purse, and withdrew from the room.

Sharon blinked slowly back out in the hall, closing the door behind her. There was something bothering her about all of this. But she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She and Officer Rodriguez had never been close; Sharon wasn't the sort of person who had close relationships with her co-workers. But she had always liked him. They'd gotten along fairly well. He was a straight shooter. And yet… She inhaled deeply, and strode off in search of Rodgers and this Jerry Vine.

Her car, a well-worn Buick sedan, whined a little as Sharon pulled into the parking lot of the daycare center. It coughed in protest as she pulled to a stop in front of the building, and she nearly let her head fall on top of her hands on the steering wheel in defeat. Everything died at some point, she knew, but her car just couldn't die now, on top of everything else. It had been three days since her mother had shown up so unexpectedly after such a long absence, and she seemed to be taking most of what Sharon had said that first night to heart. But her presence was still wearing on Sharon. Her mother was still her mother, so the significant looks, sounds, and occasional comments certainly didn't escape Sharon's notice. That, combined with the fact that Ricky had finally decided to assert his independence two nights ago and begin crawling like someone was chasing him all over the house and hadn't stopped since, as well as an increasing financial strain since Jack was still unemployed and the baby was leeching away every last dollar… Sharon was about ready to throw in the towel and just sit in this nearly broken down car with her head in her hands and wait for someone or something to save her.

"Well, I'll be waiting a very long time," she muttered to herself as she pulled herself out of the car. No one was coming to save her. Of that, she was always sure.

Sharon walked across the parking lot and let herself into the daycare, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she made her way down the hall to the pick-up area. She was earlier than usual, so the small crowd of parents gathered outside the door took her by surprise. She rarely saw any of the other parents or many of the children since she seldom arrived before 5:30 or so.

Deliberately avoiding the small crowd of mothers directly in front of the door, Sharon veered right and went to lean against the wall a little farther down the hall away from everyone. She leaned over her bag for a moment, rummaging until her fingers found the spine of a book she'd been working on for several weeks now. What with her mother's arrival and the baby and everything, she hadn't read a word in about a week. Reading was one of those simple pleasures she hoped she'd never have to give up; a pleasure that had become more of a rare gift in recent weeks.

Sharon let her bag fall to the floor at her feet and leaned back against the wall, opening her book, _The Haunted Mesa_, to her place marked with a grocery receipt from a few weeks ago. She had read maybe ten words before she sensed someone standing nearby, watching her. She looked up. One of the mothers Sharon had noticed down the hall had wandered away from the pack and was now eyeing her curiously. Their eyes met and the woman smiled a little nervously, obviously slightly embarrassed to have been caught staring. She was short, petite, with chin-length brown hair and matching dark eyes. She wore a rather loud floral skirt and button-up shirt. Not exactly business attire, Sharon surmised.

"Sorry." The woman blushed a little. "I wasn't staring. It was just, well… I haven't seen you here before. Are you new around here?"

Marking her place with that same receipt but not closing the book yet, Sharon gave the woman her somewhat divided attention. "No. I just don't usually get here this early." She looked back down at the page, hoping the woman would take the hint.

She didn't.

"Oh? Well maybe my children know yours. What's—"

"Honestly I doubt it," Sharon interrupted. "My son is eight months old, and not very chatty." This was exactly the sort of thing she had been hoping to avoid when she'd dodged the women down the hall. She was terrible at small-talk, particularly with people she didn't know, and even worse with women like this one. She never knew what exactly to say and generally ended up insulting someone. She looked desperately down the hall and saw with relief that the crowd of mothers was beginning to thin, children waddling behind or being carried by their parents back down the hall. "Excuse me," she muttered curtly and picked up her purse, depositing the now-closed book back inside it, and hurrying down the hall. She could hear the other woman following, but didn't look behind her, hoping to escape the situation before she did any serious damage.

Sharon finally made it to the door and smiled at the attendant. "I'm a little earlier than usual today. Raydor. Ricky Raydor." She took the clipboard from the young woman as she spoke and signed out her son.

"Of course, ma'am. We'll have him right out."

She only had to wait a few moments before her son was passed through the door with his bag into her waiting arms. "Hi there, little man." She shifted him onto her hip and swung the diaper bag onto her shoulder, leaving her purse to dangle from her other arm. "Thank you," she said softly to the woman in the doorway and turned back down the hall, waving a hand vaguely behind her. "Did you miss me?" Ricky just smiled and brought a sticky hand up to her hair. Sharon chuckled a little. "Ah, I see. You just missed having my hair around to pull, right?" She pushed open the door to the parking lot with her hip. "Those other ladies don't have nice long hair like mine, huh?"

Ricky just smiled and pulled the fist still clutching her long red hair towards his open mouth. Sharon clicked her tongue in dissent, trying to discourage his action, but her hands were still otherwise occupied, so she gave in. "We've got to get home, because your grandmother is still here. And between you and me," her voice dropped to a soothing whisper, "I don't really want her at the house by herself for too long." She shifted him in her arms as she tried to fish her keys out of her purse one-handedly as she walked. "And I could use a buffer. You'll be my buffer, right, buddy?" Ricky just squirmed a little, and Sharon rolled her eyes. Using her infant as a buffer. Probably not a good idea.

"Excuse me? Mrs. Raydor?"

Sharon heard a voice calling after them. She turned toward it, calling back a little irritably, "It's Detective, actually. Can I help you?" She saw the woman from the hallway towing two small children behind her, hurrying to catch up.

"Oh. Sorry. No. It's just…You dropped this." She held out a plastic pacifier to Sharon.

Ricky squirmed a little in her arms, babbling happily and reaching for the pacifier, finally dropping the now-sticky chunk of Sharon's hair.

"Oh. Thank you." Sharon gave the woman a small smile as Ricky stuffed the pacifier into his mouth.

"Laurie." The woman smiled warmly. "Laurie Calder."

Sharon shifted Ricky slightly on her hip. "Sharon. I'm sorry, but we need to get home." She turned quickly and made her way over to her car.

Elizabeth's rental car was outside the house when Sharon arrived about twenty minutes later. Jack's car was conspicuous only in its absence.

"Mother?" Sharon shuffled through the back door into the kitchen, the baby carrier balanced over one forearm, a few folders relating to her still-open excessive force case clutched to her chest, and the diaper bag and her purse slung over one shoulder. She backed into the room, lifting Ricky to sit in his carrier on the counter and dumping the contents of her arms on the formica beside him. She looked around as she did so, but there was no sign of her mother. Something was bubbling on the stovetop, and the kitchen had the distinct air of being cooked in, but Elizabeth was not there.

The movement and noise seemed to have woken Ricky, and he began to cry. Stepping out of her work shoes and pushing them up against the wall next to the back door with her stockinged foot, Sharon turned back to the kitchen at the sound of Ricky's wailing. This was no half-hearted whine, however. Ricky's face had contorted, his eyes closed tightly against the room, mouth open wide in a sob, his brow wrinkled and furrowed. Sharon swooped down to the baby, disentangling him from the straps in the seat, and pulling him up against her breast. His sobs continued.

"Mother?" Sharon nearly had to shout over the sobbing. She started to walk towards the hall, swaying slightly as she moved, trying to calm the still-bawling Ricky.

"Oh, hello there. You're a little earlier than you said!" Elizabeth rounded the corner from the hall before Sharon and Ricky had reached it. She was wearing an apron that someone had given Sharon when she and Jack had gotten married, which Sharon was quite sure hadn't seen the light of day in the five years since. Elizabeth smiled at Ricky despite the ruckus he was making and said, "Come on, now. Calm down." She pointed a finger at him sternly as she spoke. It had no effect.

"He's worked himself up now," Sharon said to her mother over her son's screams. "It's going to take me a little while to calm him down." She looked over at the bubbling pot on the stove. "Do you need to watch that?"

Her mother followed her gaze and shook her head. "No, it will be fine for a few more minutes. Can I do something?" She held out her hands for the baby hopefully.

Sharon nodded. "Could you go upstairs, into Ricky's room? There's a yellow blanket in his bed and a basket of books next to the rocking chair." She closed her eyes briefly, trying to think over Ricky's sobs. This called for something beyond the usual. "Bring down the blanket and a book or two. Something from Dr. Seuss."

Her mother nodded and disappeared down the hall to the stairs. Sharon turned back to the kitchen and prepared a bottle. Ricky was still sobbing fit to burst. When the bottle was ready, she went into the living room and sat in an armchair next to a lamp and tried to settle the baby with the bottle, but he was still too worked up. She sighed and rocked back and forth in the chair, letting her head fall back and her eyes close as she tried to find some peace despite the wailing child in her lap.

"Here you go, dear."

Sharon opened her eyes to find her mother standing before them again, the yellow blanket and a colorful book in hand. Sharon took them from her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to try? I did raise five children of my own, you know."

Sharon smiled amicably. "Thank you. But we have a routine. Just go on back to your business in the kitchen. We'll be fine in here."

Elizabeth turned away without further protest, and Sharon laid the book down on the floor beside the chair for a moment. She lifted the baby off of her lap and held his tiny body up against her shoulder and chest, spreading the blanket across her lap. Then she laid Ricky back down on top of it, his head nestled between her knees under the blanket. She wrapped him tightly in the yellow cotton, constricting his arms and legs. His cries slowed a little, and he hiccuped, but didn't stop. Sharon pulled him into her arms again, resting his head in the crook of her arm, bringing the bottle up to his face again. This time he accepted it, his tiny hands emerging from beneath the blanket to hold the bottle on his own. He still shook with silent sobs, however, and his small face was red and blotchy. So she reached down to the floor beside the chair and brought up the book her mother had brought down.

"_On the far-away Island of Sala-ma-Sond, Yertle the Turtle was king of the pond. _

_A nice little pond. It was clean. It was neat. _

_The water was warm. There was plenty to eat. _

_The turtles had everything turtles might need. _

_And they were all happy. Quite happy indeed._"

Sharon turned the page slowly.

Dr. Seuss was one of those tricks her eldest sister had shown her when Sharon had called in a panic during the first weeks with the baby. Books can be magical for babies. "He doesn't really understand yet, no. But he knows your voice, and it will calm him. Trust me." So Sharon had started to read to him. Dr. Seuss was almost always a sure thing. The rhythm of the iambic pentameter nearly always calmed him. Just like magic.

"_They __**were**__… until Yertle, the king of them all, _

_decided the kingdom he ruled was too small. '_

_I'm ruler,' said Yertle, 'of all that I see. _

_But I don't see __**enough**__ That's the trouble with me. _

_With this stone for a throne, I look down on my pond _

_But I cannot look down on the places beyond. _

_This throne that I sit on is too, too low down. _

_It ought to be __**higher**__!' he said with a frown. _

'_If I could sit high, how much greater I'd be! _

_What a king! I'd be ruler of all I could see!'_"

Sharon turned another page and looked down at her son. His face had calmed, and his breathing was labored now only by his pursuit of every last drop in the bottle at his face. She smiled tenderly down at him and brushed his face briefly with the tips of her fingers, reveling in the softness of his skin that still always took her by surprise.

"_So Yertle, the Turtle King, lifted his hand _

_And Yertle, the Turtle King, gave a command. _

_He ordered nine turtles to swim to his stone _

_And, using these turtles, he built a __**new**__ throne. _

_He made each title stand on another one's back _

_And he piled them all up in a nine-turtle stack. _

_And then Yertle climbed up. He sat down on the pile. _

_What a wonderful view! He could see 'most a mile!" _

The bottle was empty now, so Sharon cautiously removed it from Ricky's mouth and put it on the carpet next to her chair. She rocked in time with the rhythm of her reading, and Ricky's breathing began to slow and even out as she continued to the next page.

'_All mine!' Yertle cried. 'Oh the things I now rule! _

_I'm king of a cow! And I'm king of a mule! _

_I'm king of a house! And what's more, beyond that, _

_I'm king of a blueberry bush and a cat! _

_I'm Yertle the Turtle! Oh, marvelous me! _

_For I am the ruler of all that I see!'"_

Ricky's tiny face was relaxed now, his eyes closed and a fist near his open mouth. Sharon looked down at him, considering closing the book, but his eyes fluttered back open when she stopped reading, so Sharon turned the page and continued.

"_And all through that morning, he sat there up high _

_Saying over and over, 'A great king am I!' _

_Until 'long about noon. Then he heard a faint sigh. _

'_What's __**that**__?' snapped the king _

_And he looked down the stack. _

_And he saw at the bottom, a title named Mack. _

_Just a part of his throne. And this plain little turtle_

_Looked up and he said, 'Beg your pardon, King Yertle. _

_I've pains in my back and my shoulders and knees. _

_How long must we stand here, Your Majesty, please?'"_

This time when Sharon stopped to turn the page, Ricky didn't budge. His eyes remained closed, a faint snore the only sound coming from him now. Sharon closed the book and smiled softly in relief, finally looking up from her lap. Her mother was standing in the doorway opposite her, watching Sharon and Ricky with a strange look on her face. Sharon wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there, but it seemed like she'd been there for a few minutes. Their eyes met now and that strange look—was it sadness? Or perhaps pride? Or something deeper, and not quite either— disappeared. Sharon opened her mouth to speak, but before a word had left her mouth, a door slammed.

"Helllooo?"

Jack's voice boomed down the hall from the back door in the kitchen. "I have wonderful news! Anyone here?"

Sharon got to her feet softly and walked back into the dining room and kitchen, followed by her mother. "Jack," she whispered urgently, "_please_ try to keep it down. I just got the baby to calm down."

Jack immediately brought a hand to his lips, almost comically hunching in on himself as if to make himself smaller. "Right-o, Sharon. Not a peep." He mimed locking his lips and throwing an imaginary key over his shoulder.

Sharon's eyes narrowed. Jack started to walk over to where she stood still holding the sleeping baby. He bounced jovially across the room, not quite in a straight line, and Sharon knew it before she smelled it on his breath. He was under the influence. Quite clearly. In her mother's presence.

"I signed with McClennon and Feldt!" Jack spoke in an almost comically loud stage whisper, now standing before Sharon, Elizabeth standing a few paces behind her daughter. Sharon closed her eyes as the smell of alcohol overpowered his words.

She purposefully didn't look back at her mother, but watched him beadily and said, "That's wonderful, Jack. Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower before dinner?" She looked at him pointedly, and he at least had the decency to look ashamed.

"Right you are, Shar."

Sharon continued to stare daggers at him until he turned back into the hall and upstairs, humming as he staggered a little unsteadily to the bathroom. When he was out of sight, Sharon closed her eyes, bringing her free hand up to rub her forehead for a moment before turning back to her mother.

"Sharon."

Elizabeth looked sad again, and extended a hand to her daughter. But Sharon resolutely turned away, blinking back tears of humiliation. She leaned over the baby carrier and put her sleeping son back in it without jostling him and finally turned back to her mother.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sharon could see genuine concern in her mother's eyes, but she looked away, busying herself with the files she'd dumped haphazardly on the counter before.

"There's nothing to tell," she said softly. "And frankly, it's none of your business." She stacked the files together and brought them vertical on the counter, lining them up.

"But it is." Elizabeth spoke quietly behind her, but Sharon still looked purposefully at the files in her hands rather than her mother. "I came here to see what your life is like. To try to understand. And I don't. You work all day, there's a _gun_ in your purse, and you come home with your son only to put him to bed almost immediately. Your husband is clearly barely holding it together, and your closet looks like some middle-class retail shop dumped its cast-offs in there."

Sharon turned suddenly at the obvious distaste in her mother's voice, but lost her hold on the files in her hands. A few pages and a picture of their badly beaten victim fluttered to the ground between Sharon and Elizabeth. Sharon dropped to retrieve them, but her mother got there first. Elizabeth held the picture in front of her eyes for a moment, then closed them in apparent disgust.

"Are you telling me truly that you _want_ to do _this_ every day?" Elizabeth waved the picture of the bruised and bloody man in front of Sharon's eyes.

Sharon plucked the photo out of her mother's hand and straightened, sliding the picture and the paperwork into the appropriate file with her back to her mother again. "Mother," she whispered vehemently, "I don't know how else to say this. I chose this life. I get to go to work every day and make sure that our police are doing the _right _thing. That the law is being upheld. And that the officers are held to a higher standard than the criminals they police. I get to help make order out of what could be chaos. And every day, I get to save people from bad things."

Finally she turned back to Elizabeth and looked straight into her eyes as she spoke the next words, still in that quiet and intensely focused voice. "I get to come home at the end of the day and read to my son. Have dinner with my husband. Watch Ricky fall asleep in my arms more often than not, and fall asleep myself in Jack's arms most nights." Her voice suddenly became even quieter, if that was possible. "That is enough for me. And I don't understand why it isn't for you."

Elizabeth looked away as Sharon stopped speaking. There was silence for a time, and they both looked down at their feet on the kitchen tile.

Eventually, her mother spoke. "I think it's obvious that you and Jack have some things to work out. I'll take Ricky back East with me. Your father and I would love to have him for a while. And you and Jack can get on firmer footing."

Sharon's head snapped up at Elizabeth's words. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and she nearly hurled herself protectively in front of her sleeping son on the counter. Teeth clenched, she nearly growled at her mother in front of her.

"No. You don't get to criticize my choices and my husband and insinuate that this is not a healthy environment for our son. Ricky is always the first consideration in this house. And above all, you don't get to _tell me_ what _you _are going to do with _my _son." Sharon squared her shoulders protectively and crossed her arms. "And I think you should go. Now."

Elizabeth held her gaze for a moment, then turned away.

Minutes later, Sharon heard her shuffle down the stairs toward the front door. She held the door open for Elizabeth and watched her go without another word. When the lights from her mother's rental car had finally disappeared into darkness, Sharon closed the door and locked it. She pressed her back to the door and let her head fall back against it as well, eyes closed. She slid down the surface to land on the wood floor of the hall, knees pulled up against her chest. Sharon buried her face in her knees now, wrapping her arms around herself, and let all pretense fall away.

Curled up against the door, darkness closing in around her, Sharon sobbed.

**Okay, don't hate me. I really didn't mean to leave it there, but this turned into a two-parter. The next part is nearly ready, so it won't be a long wait. A couple of little things: I imagine this story (as it is right now) to be taking place in the mid-late 1980s, about '87. I have a degree in history and aim to make it as accurate to the time as possible, but if you think I've missed something, let me know. Related to that, all the books referenced in this story, including Sharon's personal reading material, are real. I'm around the age of Sharon's children, so the children's books she reads are all taken from my own childhood. The adult literature is straight from my bookshelf. If you want to know more about any of the books or music, let me know. As always, reviews are wildly appreciated! **


	5. No Surrender

**Thank you all for the continued reviews and comments! They make my day. Don't forget to follow me on Tumblr. Sometimes I post little sneak peeks of the chapters and things. ****I****'****ve been getting questions about my exact timeline, etc. So very quickly, to answer any confusion: For the purposes of this story, Sharon was born in 1959. She graduated from college in 1981. She went straight into the academy, and Jack worked an unspecified dead-end job for 1 year, saving for a wedding. They were wed in 1982. They worked another year or so to save for his law school. He graduated from UCLA Law in 1986, clerking in the meantime. Ricky was born in July of that same year, which brings us to the current moment, about mid-March 1987. Jack and Sharon are both 28, and Ricky is 8 months old. With all that cleared up, enjoy!**

The Ties That Bind

Chapter V: No Surrender

_We made a promise we swore we'd always remember_

_No retreat no surrender_

_Like soldiers in the winter's night with a vow to defend_

_No retreat no surrender_

Eventually the tears stopped and Sharon got to her feet again. She wiped her face quickly with her fingers as she walked back down the hall to the kitchen. Ricky was still sleeping soundly in the carrier on the counter, and Sharon smiled a little tearfully down at him before turning to the kitchen again.

It was a mess. Perhaps not a mess by the usual definition, but by Sharon's high standards for neat and clean, it was a catastrophe, her mother's half-finished dinner preparations strewn all over the room. There were two smoking pots on the stove, one with spaghetti boiling away, the other with some beef and vegetable tomato sauce bubbling happily. There were carrots, onions, and mushrooms spread out on several cutting boards on the island in the middle of the room. But most of the vegetables seemed to have already made it into the sauce on the stove. Over by the refrigerator, there was a large bowl containing what looked like a half-assembled green salad. The sink had several dirty dishes in it, stained with the red sauce that simmered on the stove.

Sharon sighed. She probably could have handled that little scene better. Effectively kicking her mother out on the street was not exactly the wisest or most mature move on her part. And she could not exactly hold her responsible for the mess now spread out before her. But Elizabeth had crossed the line yet again.

Sharon turned off the stove and set the two pots aside to cool and turned to the sink to begin the dishes accumulated there. She scrubbed ferociously at the dried food on the dishes, her hands moving faster and more forcefully than was strictly necessary. Her mind wasn't on the bowl in her hands, conversations with her mother over the last decade playing over and over in her memory.

"_It's a modern art show, Mother, not a rock concert."_

"_It isn't art, Sharon. It's gratuitous, seductive, sensationalist, and I won't have you exposed to it." _

"_Mother. It isn't about the sex. It's about female empowerment. It isn't pornographic, it's artistic. And I'm not asking you to go with me. Would you rather I went to that Springsteen concert?" _

"_I don't want you going to either of them. You may spend your seventeenth birthday doing something that your father and I deem appropriate." _

She'd gone anyway, much to her mother's dismay. To both, almost purely to spite her mother.

"_I'm not sure that your father and I are comfortable with you running off to the West Coast, dear. There are some really lovely schools here in the East. Brown would be such a good fit for you, Sharon."_

"_Why, Mother? Because you went there? I don't want an MRS degree. I want an education!" _

"_But I've never even heard of this school!"_

"_Well thank God quality education isn't defined by what the great and powerful Elizabeth Gleason has heard of." _

Her father had intervened on that one, eventually convincing his wife to allow Sharon to move across the country.

"_When will you and Jack be coming back East? Your father and I have already spoken to Father Thomas about the wedding. He's so looking forward to it."_

"_Mother, we're getting married here. We have no plans to come back East. Our lives are here." _

"_But that's ridiculous!"_

"_Actually, it isn't. I've been admitted into the Police Academy until Jack and I can afford law school. We have an apartment, and we're happy."_

"_You did __**what**__?!" _

It had been five years since that last conversation, but it had served as the culmination of the tension that still existed between them. That particular argument never stopped.

Suddenly, Ricky cried out. Sharon jumped, pulled immediately from her thoughts. She looked down at the now-pristine dish in her hands, the water flowing over her fingers and the bowl. Quickly she pulled her hands and the bowl out of the sink, turning off the water and placing the dish on the draining board to her right. Then she turned to the whining child behind her and wiped her hands on a dishtowel hanging from the hook on the wall.

"Hey now, what's wrong?" She pulled him out of the carrier and perched him on her hip. He was awake now, his wide green eyes taking her in seriously. Sharon sighed. He wasn't going to sleep again for a while. "Let's go see if Daddy is okay," she whispered. She might still be irate at him over his drunken entrance earlier, but she really would rather he didn't do anything else in his current state.

She climbed the stairs slowly, bouncing Ricky playfully as they went. When they reached the top, Sharon could hear Jack snoring loudly from their room. She sighed and padded down the hall in her bare feet, peeking into her bedroom. Jack was asleep, fully clothed on his stomach on top of the still-made bed. Sharon could smell the alcohol from her place at the door. Clearly, she wasn't sleeping in her own bed tonight. She turned away from the room, closing the door softly behind her.

By the time she and Ricky made it back downstairs, Sharon's stomach was audibly unhappy. She turned back to the kitchen. Ricky was still wide awake on her hip, but no longer fussing, so she eased him back into the carrier in the kitchen. She pulled down a plate and prepared herself a serving of the pasta that had been left abandoned beside the stove. She poured herself a glass of wine and brought the plate and salad to the table in the room just beyond the kitchen. She placed her dinner before her usual chair, then turned back to the kitchen, picking up her case file in one hand and hooking Ricky in his carrier over her other arm. Back at the table, Sharon spread the file out just beyond her plate so she could look at it and eat at the same time. She settled Ricky, still awake in the carrier, on the floor right next to her seat so that she could rock him with her foot as she worked and ate. She sat that way for a while, eyes on the file in front of her, hands and mouth occupied with her dinner, one foot slowly rocking her son on the floor.

Ricky was still awake by the time she finished her dinner, so she set the plate aside and pulled the file towards her, looking at it more closely. She continued to rock him gently with one foot. Sharon had until the following afternoon to wrap up this case. And there was something about it that was bothering her. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was investigating someone she knew quite well. That had never happened before in her few months in the Force Investigation Division.

In her limited experience so far, she had been able to pick out the dirty and clean police officers almost immediately. It was a gift. She loved the structure of her new job and this gift served her well, restricting the possibility for surprises, which she hated. Sharon had found as many good officers as bad in her work, and she could sense the difference almost immediately. She had yet to come across any ambiguity. She was saving the city from bad things. And she liked that.

Sharon pulled the photo of her badly-bruised victim and looked at it closely. Then she pulled the statement from her interview with Rodriguez earlier that day and read it through. Frowning slightly, she put both the photo and the officer's statement aside, reaching for the only witness statement they had, from Rodger's interview with Rodriguez's partner, officer Pickens.

"Oh my God."

Sharon filled in Rodgers on the way back to the precinct the following morning. When they arrived around ten, she led the way into the building. Silence fell immediately upon her entrance to that same squad room. Where before she had been gently authoritative, today she was clearly in charge. It suddenly occurred to Sharon that she no longer really cared if Rodriguez and Pickens or their colleagues like her at all. Instead of depressing her, however, she suddenly felt liberated.

"You mind if I take the lead here, detective?" she directed her question in Rodgers' direction, but didn't wait for a response. "I want Officers Rodriguez and Pickens in separate interview rooms, right now." She spoke to the room at large now, with a new low and intense tone. The officers parted before her as she made her way back to the interview rooms, her heels clicking smartly on the tile. "And those Union reps better be here within the hour. I gave them fair warning, and I will _not_ allow them to hinder our investigation any longer."

The uniformed officers hadn't moved, staring at her with no small amount of dislike and fear.

"Do you boys need an invitation?" Sharon looked around the room cooly, still speaking in that new low and intense voice. "Move. Now."

Everyone scattered. Rodgers came up behind Sharon and touched her softly on the shoulder. She spun sharply, her hair hitting him as it followed her back around. He backed away. "Sorry. I just—Are you alright?"

Sharon took in his wary look. Rodgers wasn't a bad guy exactly. She might even say she liked him. But he was incredibly dense sometimes.

"I'm fine. Are _you_ alright?" She asked pointedly. He had the decency to look sheepish and break eye contact first.

Twenty minutes later, Sharon and her fellow detective had finally settled in an interview room, seated across from Officer Pickens and another non-descript Union representative. The officer was visibly nervous and his eyes kept flicking from the tape recorder on the table to the two-way mirror on the wall facing him and finally to the door just behind Sharon.

Sharon folded her hands neatly on top of the file before her and began to speak. "Good morning officer. I am Detective Sharon Raydor with the Force Investigation Division, and I believe you've already met Detective Rodgers here?"

Officer Pickens nodded silently.

"Good." Sharon smiled lightly at him and continued to speak in a quiet, conversational tone. "Now I know you already went over it with Detective Rodgers here yesterday, but could you tell us, once again in your own words, exactly what happened between Officer Rodriguez and this suspect, Mr. Vine? Just keeping all of our bases covered." She stopped speaking and watched him carefully, still smiling lightly, as he consulted with his representative in whispers.

"Okay." Pickens turned back to her and began to speak. "I was on patrol with Rodriguez yesterday morning downtown. Traffic stops, mostly. And we pulled over the suspect, Jerry Vine, for erratic and reckless driving. He blew through a traffic light without even tapping the breaks and nearly clipped a couple of pedestrians, going about twenty miles over the speed limit."

Sharon nodded, looking down at the file in front of her as Pickens continued. "Rodriguez got out of the car to speak to the driver. I was watching, and could see that he was very agitated. He shouted profanities and got out of the car suddenly. I observed Rodriguez asking him to step back into his vehicle, but he refused. Rodriguez asked him to turn around and place his hands on the car. He continued to advance upon my partner. So I observed Rodriguez restraining him by force, at which point I exited the patrol car and aided in Mr. Vine's arrest."

He stopped speaking and relaxed in his chair. Sharon finally looked up from the file in front of her. Rodgers continued to sit quietly beside her, looking at his hands on the table. Sharon resisted the urge to roll her eyes with difficulty.

"You know," she began amiably, smiling across at Pickens, "it's funny. But that's exactly what I have here in the statement you gave Detective Rodgers yesterday." Sharon pointed down at the typewritten statement in front of her.

Pickens opened his mouth to speak, but his representative in the suit held out a hand and whispered, "Don't say anything yet, Officer." Looking up at Sharon, the man spoke normally, "I don't know where you're going with this, Detective, but I fail to see how the fact that his statement this morning matches his statement from yesterday would be at all unusual."

Eyes widening in mock surprise, Sharon replied in an apologetic tone, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I didn't mean that his statement a moment ago was consistent with his written statement on file." She removed the appropriate page from the folder before her and pushed it across the table toward the officer and his counsel, turning the sheet to face them. "I mean that it is _identical_. Every word of it, exactly the same."

At those words, Rodger's head to her left snapped back up. It seemed he was beginning to catch up.

Pickens' counsel, a Mr. _what was it? Jones?_ _She couldn__'__t quite remember. _Yes. Mr. Jones, she decided. Jones immediately looked over the statement. "I think it's quite clear that Officer Pickens here was very concerned about remaining consistent with his statement, and took great care to recount the events precisely and accurately for the record. He memorized his statement so that he could be as truthful and consistent as possible." He smiled coldly across the table at her, and she returned the favor in kind. Jones began to slide the statement back towards Sharon and Rodgers, but Sharon brought her hand down flat upon it, stopping its progress across the surface.

"You know, you might have been able to convince Detective Rodgers here of that. You might even have been able to convince me of that. If it weren't for one thing." Sharon removed another typed page from the file, placing it on the table and turning it slowly to face Pickens and his counsel across from her. "You see, this is Officer Eliseo Rodriguez's statement, made to me yesterday afternoon. And it matches exactly both of Officer Pickens' statements here." She pushed both typed pages side-by-side towards the men across from her. "To be clear, I'm not saying that they're similar or consistent. Take a look. Apart from a few differences in pronouns and passive versus active voice usages in certain places, they are _exactly _the same." She looked up at the officer directly now. "Which brings me to my next question. Tell me, how is it that you and your partner were somehow able to give identical statements, nearly word-for-word, when you were questioned separately? And then how was it that you were able to regurgitate that same statement to me just now, nearly twenty-four hours later?" Sharon's voice had lost its calm and amiable tone now, adopting a lower one with a distinct edge to it.

She could see the panic in Pickens' eyes now. He looked frantically over at his counsel who held up a hand. "Don't answer that, Officer." Jones directed his gaze at Sharon. "What is it that you want here, detective?"

"The truth."

"Hello again, Sharon. You know, it's been really great to see you, despite the circumstances. We're going to be able to wrap this up today, right? I'd just really like for all of this to be over."

Sharon closed the door softly behind her and glided over to the table to sit across from Officer Rodriguez. She dropped the now rather heavy file between them and gave him a steely smile. "I don't see why not. I just have a few last questions, and then we'll be done." She pushed the record button on the tape deck between them quickly, then gestured at the empty seat beside him. "I see you've elected not to have a union representative in this interview."

He nodded, shrugging. "I don't really need him. I'm fine."

Her eyebrows rose. That would make things much more straightforward. And as Rodgers had elected to observe from outside the room this time, she and the officer would be able to have a direct, straightforward conversation. "Of course, that is your prerogative. But I would be remiss if I didn't remind you that it is your right to have representation during questioning. Are you sure you want to proceed?" Sharon stared at him intently as she spoke.

"I'm fine, Sharon. Really. Let's just wrap this up."

She leaned forward slightly, steeling herself for what was to come. "Alright. But if you don't mind, for the purposes of this interview, it's Detective, Officer."

Rodriguez shifted a little uncomfortably for the first time. "Right. Of course. Sorry, Detective."

"Well then. Here is a copy of the statement you gave me yesterday." She pushed a single piece of paper across the table, along with a pen. "If you could read it aloud, into the record once more, then sign and date at the bottom if it's correct."

Nodding, Rodriguez began to read. "I was on patrol with my partner this morning downtown. Traffic stops, mostly. And we pulled over our suspect, Jerry Vine, for erratic and reckless driving. He blew through a traffic light without even tapping the breaks and nearly clipped a couple of pedestrians, going about twenty miles over the speed limit. I was driving. My partner, Jim Pickens, was in the passenger seat. We pulled the guy over, and I got out of the car to take care of it. I asked him for his license and registration, started to ask him what the hell he was doing. And he was very agitated. He shouted profanities and got out of the car suddenly. I asked him to step back into his vehicle, but he refused. I asked him to turn around and place his hands on the car. He continued to advance upon me. So I restrained him by force. At which point Pickens exited the patrol car and aided in Mr. Vine's arrest." He looked up when he had finished, and picked up the pen. "That's my statement, yes." Sharon watched him sign at the bottom, then push the statement back towards her. She noted several small cuts on the fingers and knuckles of his right hand.

"Thank you." She placed the typed sheet back in the folder. "Now your partner's statement lines up exactly with yours. So there is no problem there. Mr. Vine, however, is still asserting that his injuries were sustained when you beat him violently while he was handcuffed against the car." Sharon smiled apologetically. "So I'm afraid I have a few more questions." She removed several photos of her victim's injuries and turned them on the table to face Rodriguez. "Now, you say that all of these injuries, the laceration on his left cheek, the bruise on his lower right abdomen, and the other minor abrasions on his right hand and his neck, were all caused by you forcing him against the car in your efforts to restrain him?"

The officer nodded silently, avoiding her gaze.

"Alright. But these injuries seem completely inconsistent with your version of events." Rodriguez began to shift uncomfortably again, making to put his hands in his lap. "And I can't help but notice," Sharon's voice was quiet and deadly as her hand launched across the table, her fingers closing around his right wrist before he could remove it from view, "that your fist seems to have hit something recently." She pulled his hand towards her, slamming it flat on the table as she continued. "In fact, your fist rather looks like it might have beaten someone bloody recently." She stopped, releasing his wrist, and waited for him to reply.

"I got in a fight a couple days ago," Rodriguez muttered. He had lost the confidence from just minutes earlier, looking down at the table morosely.

"Maybe you did," Sharon nodded, gathering the photos and replacing them in the file in front of her. "Or maybe you pulled over a reckless driver, asked him for his license and registration, and when he let rip with a bigoted racial slur at your expense, you lost your temper and beat him senseless."

Rodriguez's head popped up immediately at her words. There was a new fire in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Sharon cut him off, turning off the recorder between them and picking it up.

"Well, that's the version that is going in my report, at least. Supported by two witness statements and these photographs." She stood up, pulling the file and tape deck to her chest. "You'll receive an official reprimand and citation in your jacket, as well as ten days' suspension without pay." She turned to leave, desiring nothing more than to get out of the room as soon as humanly possible. With her hand on the doorknob, she heard Rodriguez speak behind her, and she stopped.

"You know, we always knew you were an ice queen. Frigid and dead inside with that propensity for rules and unable to take the slightest joke."

Sharon continued to look down at her hand on the door as Rodriguez spoke behind her, his voice sharp and biting with suppressed rage.

"But I don't think any of us suspected what a complete bitch you are. Have a nice life. All alone, with no one who gives a shit about you. Because no one here will ever have your back."

Walking out the door without another word, Sharon made a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and dumping the contents of her arms on a chair beside the sink. She leaned over the sink heavily. Her fingers combed through her hair briefly.

Sharon wasn't upset by what Rodriguez had said; honestly she couldn't have cared less. It was this anger that surprised her. This anger that had been coursing through her ever since she'd put the pieces together the previous night at dinner. It was a different sort of anger than that which she'd felt towards her mother and Jack in recent days and weeks. It was cold, distant, almost quiet. But all-consuming.

She could no longer give these officers the benefit of the doubt. She couldn't just trust her gut anymore. Any of these men and women could be breaking the rules. She wouldn't be taken by surprise again.

It wasn't anger, Sharon decided. It was worse than that. It was betrayal.

Jack was already home when Sharon returned that evening. The lights were on, his car was parked, and she could even smell something heavenly when she shuffled up to the back door, arms occupied with Ricky and all the trappings of a working mother. The door opened before she'd even reached it, and Jack pulled her quickly into a kiss. She let out a small cry of surprise, and Jack slipped her purse and Ricky's bag off her shoulder while she was preoccupied, hanging them on the hook just inside the door. Sharon pulled back after just a moment, smiling and patting his cheek with her recently liberated hand.

"Well that was… unexpected. What's going on here?"

Jack looked positively jubilant, pulling her into the house by the hand, freeing her other arm from Ricky's carrier and hoisting his son onto the counter. "That's my favorite detective, picking up on those clues!" He continued to pull her by the hand into the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. Sharon could hear music playing somewhere, something jazzy and light. The table was set for two, with lit candles, two glasses of water, and a pair of beautiful steaks. There was also fresh asparagus in a dish on the table and what looked like garlic bread in a basket.

Sharon looked back at her husband, slightly bemused. "Jack, we can't afford this! I know you didn't make it yourself." She looked closely at the plates. "You did not! Jack, We can't afford _Chasen__'__s_!"

He smirked. "I think you'll find we can. Now why don't you go put the baby down? I know it's early, but he's already asleep over there. Get him all settled and then come back and I'll tell you what's going on."

Ricky was easy that night, almost as if he sensed that Sharon could use a break. When Sharon made it back downstairs, Jack was positively gleeful.

"Sit, sit, sit!" He pulled out her chair for her, then settled down opposite her.

"What, no wine?" Sharon gestured dubiously at the water glasses before them.

Jack reached across the table and took her hand, speaking softly. "I threw it out. All of it."

Her heart rose hopefully.

"You were right. I shouldn't need it. And God, after what happened last night. And the last few months, with Ricky…" He sighed, looking a little sad. "I'm so sorry, Sharon. I've been an ass."

Sharon smiled a little tearfully and patted his hand gently. "It's alright."

"No. It's not, Sharon. I'm sorry." He squeezed her hand.

"You're right. It's not. But I forgive you. Now tell me. How are we affording this?"

Jack sat up straight again, dropping her hand and starting on his dinner. "Well. You, love, are looking at the newest junior associate at McClennon and Feldt." He smiled proudly. "I know I told you last night, but circumstances were not…ideal." They both stared down at their plates as the memory of his drunken entrance the night before in her mother's presence hovered in the silence between them. "But I signed my contract today," Jack finally continued. "It's going to be wonderful. No more pinching pennies, Sharon."

Sharon remained mostly silent throughout the rest of their meal, allowing Jack to carry them through, discussing the prospect of his new job. She deliberately avoided any discussion of her day. She didn't want to bring down Jack's jubilant mood. For the first time in months, it seemed she had her husband back, and she didn't want to ruin it. He was sweet and affectionate for the entire evening. Respectful, kind, saying all the right things. He even helped her with the dishes afterwards. Well, less helping and more splashing at her playfully.

She'd finally gotten him to focus on the cleaning again when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Umm Sharon Raydor?"

She could hear Jack splashing away in the sink again and turned back to him. She silently motioned insistently at the dishes, the smile in her eyes betraying her supposed stern expression.

"Speaking. What can I do for you?"

Jack adopted an appropriately chastised look and pretended to be hard at work for a moment.

"This is Laurie Calder. We met at the Daycare a couple of days ago?"

"Oh. Right. Yes. You know, I meant to say something at some point. You caught me on a bit of a bad day, and I think maybe I was a little rude. And I'm sorry."

Jack had abandoned the dishes now, coming towards her with his soapy hands and a playful twinkle in his eye. _Who is it? _ He mouthed at her silently. She shrugged, rolling her eyes. She turned away from him, trying to concentrate on the conversation again.

"Oh, no. That's not—It's just, well, my little Thomas seems quite taken with your little boy. And we'd really like to have you over for tea. Or maybe go to the park together sometime."

Sharon frowned a little in surprise. Is this how it was done? Women just cold-called mothers of children their own children interacted with?

"Um sure. That could be… nice." Suddenly she felt Jack's wet hands coming around her middle from behind, and she almost giggled. She turned back to him and gave him another stern look, mouthing, _STOP! _Silently. But cracked at the last moment at the silly look on his face. She put a hand up to his face, pushing him playfully out of view. "Maybe this weekend. I'm not sure. You know, I'll call you." She hung up. She looked at Jack accusingly, not saying a word.

"What?" He held up his hands in surrender. "I can't help it. My wife is damn sexy when she gets mad."

Sharon continued to glare at him for a moment, then for the first time in weeks, threw back her head and laughed.

**Okay, after all that pain and angst, I thought I owed you a little fluff. For future reference, this story will not focus on the cases as much. But this one was really important, so I dwelled a little outside my comfort zone. This is a story about who and what made Sharon the way she is, so all the cop-stuff was necessary. And I hope it worked. Reviews are like chocolate in the face of dementors. So keep them coming!**


	6. Protect My Child

**I apologize for the wait, lovelies. I felt the need to wait and let the Jack/Sharon dynamic we saw inform some of this chapter. I really don't think that anything that happens here will be surprising, but that's really the nature of a flashback fic, isn't it? Anyway. We have now entered part II of this 3-part story. There's been a slight time shift, and you'll notice some darker themes (hence the rating change). Enjoy!**

The Ties That Bind

Chapter VI: Protect My Child

_As his youth now unfolds_

_He is centuries old_

_Just to see him at play makes me smile_

_No matter what happens to me_

_No matter what my destiny_

_Lord, protect my child_

It never got truly cold in LA. Yes, once it hit November Sharon was generally forced to don a light jacket and occasionally turn on the heat in the car or house, but it wasn't cold. Sometimes she was grateful for those subtle seasons. Sharon knew all too well how brutal the winters were back in Chicago with her family, but she still missed the cold and snow and even the ruthless wind at this time of year. It almost didn't feel like Christmas without the cold. And Sharon loved Christmas. It just felt so different here than it had back home. Especially now that they were skipping out on Christmas with her side of the family yet again.

Sharon looked up in wonder at the early December sky as she pushed the stroller towards their usual park. It was a Saturday morning, so the park was far from deserted. There was a group of boys who looked to be about eight or nine years old engaged in an impromptu game of soccer; they didn't seem to be playing by traditional rules, however. One boy had just scooped up the ball and gone flying toward a basketball hoop thirty feet away. His teammates screamed in protest and took off after him.

At the sudden commotion in their path, Ricky started to squirm and kick in the stroller. "Out," he said firmly, looking up at her expectantly.

Sharon shook her head at him. "Not yet, buddy. Those boys are a little too big for us just yet." She looked beyond the field where the boys had been playing, toward the playground where she saw a friendly face. "Look, Thomas is already here. You can go play with him as soon as we get over there." She waved at the familiar figures near the swings and pushed the stroller a little more quickly in that direction. Ricky seemed to have caught on to her meaning and was now babbling away happily. Little Thomas saw them before they arrived and came running unsteadily to meet them.

"Wicky!" Thomas shrieked in excitement, his hands clapping together. "Wicky come play?" He looked up at Sharon inquisitively.

She smiled and nodded. "Of course." Crouching down in front of the stroller, Sharon pushed in the appropriate tabs with a practiced hand and released Ricky from the restricting straps. He twisted immediately, attempting to slide out of the seat immediately, but without much success, so Sharon lifted him out herself and set him gingerly on his feet. "Now Thomas, be careful. Remember that Ricky isn't as good at running yet as you are." Thomas nodded seriously, then turned and ran back to the playground, practically dragging Ricky by the hand behind him. Sharon rolled her eyes good-naturedly and walked the last few paces over to join Thomas's mother.

"Well we tried. It's not our fault if they kill each other." Laurie smiled and patted the space beside her on the bench in invitation.

Sighing, Sharon dropped onto the bench tiredly. "Well technically, Laurie—"

"Oh Sharon hush. It was a joke." Laurie grinned playfully.

Not for the first time in recent months, Sharon glanced at her new friend in wonder. Sharon didn't make friends easily. Usually the people she socialized with had been colleagues from work or classmates back in college. She had never been someone who was able to just walk up to someone and strike up a friendship. Especially with someone so completely different from herself. But for some reason, Laurie had just decided they should be friends. And they were. Somehow it worked. Laurie just laughed at Sharon's stand-offishness for the most part. And Sharon would balance out the impulsiveness in Laurie. It was a wonderful friendship. The sort she'd never had before.

"Rough morning?" Laurie looked mildly concerned. "You look exhausted."

Sharon grimaced. "Great. That's exactly what I love to hear," she replied sarcastically. "Thanks."

"I'm just concerned." Laurie smiled reassuringly. "You know I always have my 'fix-it' bag with me." She gestured to a messenger bag hanging off the handles of her own stroller. Sharon had seen Laurie pull everything from toys to distract from an argument between children to a bottle of wine to help with the more mature problems in life.

"There's really nothing that calls for fixing. I'm fine." Sharon tried to wave away Laurie's concern.

"I can tell there's something going on. You're pale, a little sluggish, and snappy. But somehow your hair still looks flawless. How do you do that, Sharon?" Laurie reached up and fluffed Sharon's hair a bit.

"I don't know. It's a blessing. And hair care is important." She shrugged and looked over at Ricky and Thomas toddling around the playground happily. Thomas was his mother in miniature; light brown hair with those icy blue eyes and pointed face. He was a bit older than her son, but still had those chubby little limbs and sticky hands. He was showing little Ricky something in the sandbox. But Ricky hadn't really noticed, busy stomping around on some bugs in the ground. Now nearly fourteen months old, her son was infinitely curious about everything. He had her eyes, but everything else was pure Jack; the round face, that puckered expression he sometimes made when he was concentrating, that long knobby nose. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that this was Jack's son.

"So are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Finally looking away from their children, Sharon sighed. "There's nothing to tell. I just haven't been feeling well." She ran her fingers through her hair briefly. "I've just been waking up tired. Feeling a little sick to my stomach sometimes. It's really nothing." She thought she knew what was wrong, but wasn't ready to share it yet. Her fingers left her hair and rubbed her forehead lightly as she avoided Laurie's gaze. "Where's Sarah today?" Sharon tried to steer the conversation away from herself in that practiced way by changing the subject to Laurie's four-year-old daughter.

"She's spending the day with my sister and my niece. They went to a movie." Laurie pursed her lips and shot Sharon a rather furtive look before pressing on. "Is there maybe some added stress at home or at work? Is everything with Jack alright?"

"Laurie, there's a reason you don't get paid for psychoanalysis anymore," Sharon snapped curtly. "So get out of my head."

Beside her, Laurie's mouth opened in shock and hurt. A heavy silence hung between them. Sharon could have kicked herself. Why did she say things like that? Sharon knew that Laurie's dropped career as a psychologist was still a sore point. "I'm sorry, Laurie. I don't know what made me say that. I'm just exhausted."

Laurie's mouth closed. "It's fine. I'm sorry too. I was pushing." They stared at each other silently for a time.

"MAMA!" Ricky's voice finally broke the tension. Both women immediately jumped to their feet at Ricky's cries of distress. The toddler had fallen to his knees in the grass a few feet away, just in front of the playground. His face was red and distorted by his sobs, hands propping up his torso.

Sharon reached him within moments and scooped him up, humming soothingly and swinging him onto her hip. "What happened, little man?" But Ricky's limited vocabulary seemed stymied by his distress. He pointed at the low step on the grass leading up into the playground, and sobbed harder.

Thomas, looking back down at them from his place a few steps above the ground, also pointed at the bottom step. "He falled," the little boy said simply.

"I see." Sharon lowered herself and Ricky to sit on the grass, bringing her son onto her lap to examine him properly. Laurie leaned over them in concern, but Sharon waved her away. "We're okay." She looked over her son slowly. There was no blood that she could see, just a little displaced skin where his hands and knees had met the ground. The fall had scared him more than anything else. She brushed some grass and dirt off his front, still humming soothingly, and Ricky began to calm. He pulled himself up her body, clutching her blouse tightly, and buried his face in the space between the slope of her shoulder and the top of her breast. She rocked gently on the ground, her legs extended in front of her, hands rubbing Ricky's back comfortingly. Eventually his shoulders stopped shuddering with sobs and he wiped his face sloppily across the front of Sharon's blouse, leaving a trail of snot and tears in his wake. He leaned back and settled on her knees for a moment. "All better?" Sharon brushed his soft tuft of brown hair affectionately out of his face with her fingertips as she spoke. In answer, Ricky pushed himself to his feet again and waddled off again.

Getting slowly to her feet, she grimaced a little at her tear- and snot-streaked blouse. She turned back to Laurie on the bench a few feet away. "That bag of yours have anything that will fix this?" Sharon gestured ruefully down at her front as she made her way back over to her friend.

Laurie's eyes met hers again, her expression equally amused. "I might." She reached over to the bag hanging from the stroller to her right and rummaged through it for a moment. "Let's see. I have…tissues." She pulled out a small pocket-sized package and put it on the bench between them. "But wait. I think I might have—" Laurie's face was practically inside the bag as she reached for the bottom. Sharon could hear things clanking around noisily inside as Laurie dug through the contents. "Yes! I have wipes!" She popped up immediately with the small package held aloft, her hand nearly striking Sharon in the face in her triumph. Sharon ducked away just in time, and Laurie looked a little sheepish as she lowered her arm and slowly handed Sharon the package.

"Sorry. My enthusiasm nearly took your head off there."

They both grinned a little ruefully as Sharon started to dab gently at her blouse.

"So how are things these days?" Laurie looked over at her a little cautiously as she breached the subject again.

Sharon scrutinized a spot at her collar, rubbing at it rapidly for a moment before sighing and giving up, wadding up the moist towel and tossing it onto the bench beside her. "Oh, fine, really. Actually pretty good. Jack's trying his first case this week. He's so excited. It means a lot to him to get to earn the greater part of our income now." She watched Thomas and Ricky chasing each other around the perimeter of the playground, both toddling a little unsteadily on their chubby legs and giggling madly. "And he took Ricky to the zoo last weekend when I had to work. They spent a fortune, but had such a good time. We can afford it now."

Reaching over to pat her hand gently, Laurie said quietly, "That's great. But how are _you_, Sharon?"

"I'm fine." Sharon sighed. "Just tired. Working." She didn't really discuss her work much with Laurie. One of the things that made their friendship work was the fact that Laurie never bore witness to the cold emotional distance she had to display at work. Internal Affairs, she'd found, was about learning not to get emotionally engaged. Observing social norms in the work place made her vulnerable; the unpredictability of social interactions and relationships was uncomfortable. Her job was easier when she separated herself from the people, and there was a power in it. She and Laurie worked as close friends because Laurie was completely removed from that environment.

"Alright. But maybe you could go see a doctor, just in case."

Sharon shivered. Goosebumps rose up her legs hanging over the side of the exam table. She tried to pull the gown more securely around her torso without success. The thin paper material was unforgiving. And it wasn't really the temperature that was making her shiver.

Doctors made her nervous.

It wasn't an anxiety about her health at all. She was conscientious about her physical well-being. She ate all the right things, stayed fit, and rarely got sick. Hospitalizations in the past had all been injury-related. A broken leg in high school (winters in Chicago did not bode well for clumsy fourteen-year-old girls). A strained neck from a minor car accident in college. Most recently, a bullet graze to her side from that fateful day a few years ago when she'd first killed a man. Sharon's left hand moved down to her side, just above her hip, rubbing the small scar there unconsciously.

It wasn't a fear for her health at all. It was about vulnerability.

Sharon's hand moved away from the old scar, returning to its previous position wrapped protectively around her torso.

Her entire professional life, about seven years now, Sharon had carefully and deliberately maintained an aura of strength with a certain degree of masculinity. As a woman on the Force, she was always proving her physical and emotional fortitude to her colleagues and superiors. She kept her emotions in check more aptly and conscientiously than her male counterparts. She spent twice as much time on the firing range, maintaining an enviable ability with her weapon. And she never backed down from a fight. She'd never be "one of the boys," but she sure as hell wasn't going to be a damsel in distress either.

Sitting in a doctor's office, dressed only in a paper gown, with no true control over what might happen when the doctor walked through that door terrified Sharon. Particularly given the sneaking suspicion lurking in the back of her mind.

Finally, the door swung open.

"…And get Ms. Wilde down the hall set up for x-ray." Tall and imposing with her low voice and wildly curly hair, Dr. Violet Smith came through the door speaking over her shoulder. Sharon heard a vague sound of assent from someone out in the hall, and Dr. Smith closed the door softly behind her and looking at her patient. "Sharon." She smiled broadly, her pearly white teeth contrasting attractively with her dark skin. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Since you had that beautiful baby of yours." She sat down on the stool just in front of Sharon and looked down at the chart in her lap.

"Yes," Sharon replied as affably as she could. She was more comfortable with Dr. Smith than she was with most doctors, but they were not friends. And Sharon's anxiety was still a little overwhelming, no matter how well she masked it.

"So what can I do for you today?" The doctor looked up from Sharon's chart and waited for her to speak.

Sharon's arms tightened around her waist. "I just haven't been feeling well for a few weeks. I'm sleeping, but I wake up tired. I'm often nauseous." She stopped, looking up from her lap, finally giving voice to the lurking thought at the back of her mind. "And I haven't had a period in a while."

Dr. Smith smiled again. "Alright then. Let's do a quick blood test. It's going to take a little while to get the results back, so I'll do an exam as well." She got to her feet and moved around to the side of the exam table. "Just lie back on the table for a moment, and relax."

Dropping her defensive position with some reluctance, she lowered herself slowly onto the exam table and sat still as the doctor's small hands probed and prodded her. Dr. Smith tried to engage her in small talk as she performed the exam, but Sharon was mostly quiet, finally considering the idea that she had been deliberately keeping at bay for nearly two months now.

It was really a lovely idea. There was something inherently wonderful about the idea of a tiny human growing inside of her. Logically and objectively, she could see the absurdity of thinking fondly of what some might class as a parasite. There was not much doubt in Sharon's mind that she was pregnant. Two months without a period, the exhaustion and the nausea—She had done this before, after all. But there were some definite mixed feelings. It would complicate things, of course. Her work situation. Her marriage. Their finances.

"Well, Sharon, I'm going to have a nurse come in and take some blood. Then, if you'd like, we can do an ultrasound." Dr. Smith looked down at the chart. "The lab won't get your blood work back to me for at least a day. But you've said it's been eight weeks since your last period?" Sharon straightened, returning to her sitting position and nodded. "Well then we'll probably be able to see if there is anything to see. And I'd like to take a peek, make sure everything is alright."

Twenty minutes later, Sharon's blood had been drawn, and Dr. Smith was back with the ultrasound equipment. She rolled it over to the exam table, sitting directly in front of it. She motioned for Sharon to lie back on the table. "You know the drill, Sharon. Gown up, please."

Sharon nodded and pulled the flimsy paper up to reveal her still flat stomach.

"A little cold." The doctor released a small dollop of gel onto Sharon's abdomen, grimacing apologetically at Sharon's sharp intake of breath at the sensation. She picked up the wand resting next to the monitor and met her patient's eyes. "Let's see what we have here." She lowered the apparatus in her hand to Sharon's stomach.

Holding her breath in anticipation, Sharon craned her neck slightly to look at the monitor. It was grey, nothing but rippling shadows for a time as Dr. Smith maneuvered the wand across her abdomen and upper pelvis. They were both silent, looking intently at the monitor.

Then the rippling shadows ceased, and Dr. Smith let out a small hum. "There we are."

Sharon looked, greedily. The screen was still grey, grainy. But in the center of the image was a dark oval; standing out in contrast, Sharon could just make out the silhouette of a head, torso, and tiny legs. She heard the click of a few keys, and the image froze. The little grey shape seemed tiny, fragile. But very clearly a baby. Sharon smiled at it, and felt tears welling up behind her eyes. She looked up at Dr. Smith, chuckling a little at the look of joy on her face as well.

The doctor pressed a few keys again, and the image began to move once more. A steady whooshing sound met Sharon's ears. "Nice steady heartbeat, Sharon." She pointed out a few features, but Sharon wasn't really listening. She was already lost to the little child on the screen. She'd always known she'd love her children. But when she'd seen little Ricky on a screen like this nearly two years ago, the strength of the feeling had almost bowled her over. She was used to it now, when she looked at her son, but the love was just as strong. When she'd first begun to suspect her pregnancy a few weeks ago, she'd wondered if she could love a second child as much. Was it possible to love two people like this? Watching the tiny shape rippling on the screen above her, she knew the answer.

"Looks like you're about ten weeks along. You've got a lovely, healthy baby growing in there."

For the rest of the day, Sharon's hand continued to migrate unconsciously toward her abdomen, sometimes rubbing softly, other moments just resting absently. And through it all, she wondered how Jack would react. She was going to tell him tonight. Sharon couldn't keep it from him now that she knew for sure. And of course, there was no doubt that the baby was Jack's. He had just been so standoffish about children. The first few months with Ricky seemed to have been the worst of it. Now that their son was walking and talking (only in one-word sentences, true, but he was building on the basics), Jack seemed more comfortable spending time with him and sharing the parenting mantle. That might also be due to his sobriety, though, Sharon thought. It had been six months since the fiasco with her mother, and it seemed he was keeping his word. Working had been good for him. And their finances were much more secure these days. It was absolutely plausible that he would be more amenable to the idea of a baby this time around. She'd brought it up a few months ago, and he'd actually smiled at the thought, voicing the idea that maybe they could have a little girl this time.

She called Laurie on the way home that afternoon and asked if Ricky could stay over for dinner. She didn't share her news yet, however.

Jack was already home when she arrived after swinging by the Calder's house and depositing Ricky in Laurie's capable hands.

"Jack? Are you home?" She looked around the house briefly and found him settled on the couch with a few law books scattered around.

He looked up when she entered. "Hi there." He looked beyond her, into the hall. "Aren't you missing something?"

Shaking her head, Sharon dropped onto the couch beside him, giving him a swift peck on the cheek in greeting. "No. I dropped Ricky with Laurie and Jim. We need to talk."

He sighed heavily and closed up the law books in front of him, stacking his work on the coffee table. "Well those are four words every man has learned to fear." he turned in his seat to face her. "Alright. Lay it on me."

Sharon pursed her lips for a moment, steeling herself. She did value directness.

"I'm pregnant."

Her husband stared at her, silent.

"And how exactly did _that_ happen? Again?"

He was quiet, no trace of anger. His eyes were full of accusation, however.

Sharon blanched. "How do you _think_ it happened?" Her gaze dropped to her lap, angry. Angry at herself for feeling guilty. Angry at Jack for making her feel this way. Angry at the nausea beginning to rise in her stomach again. "We discussed this. Months ago. You said you would think about another baby. You told me you liked the idea."

Jack's eyebrows rose. "Come on, Sharon. That was just pillow talk. You should know better than to take it seriously."

What had started as anxiety and annoyance transformed into full-fledged rage at his words. "Jackson. If you didn't want any more children, you should have said something when I brought it up. You could have told me the truth. You could have talked to me about it. Or maybe," she continued sarcastically, "kept your pants on when you weren't ready for the consequences!" She jumped to her feet, her voice rising. "But more importantly, you could have behaved like an adult." She turned away from him, taking a deep breath as her hand once again moved unconsciously to her abdomen.

Behind her, she heard Jack rise to his feet as well. "You should have been on the pill. You've no one to blame but yourself, here!" He was yelling now, losing the earlier quiet and casual tone. "I should be able to make love to my damn wife without having to worry about the fucking consequences! Didn't you march in those damn parades and harp on about affordable contraception for women?! What the fuck was the point? All that talk about sexual and social liberation, and you're just going to throw it all away and become your mother; trapped by the perpetual neediness of your offspring."

Sharon's eyes flashed at his words, and she didn't trust herself to turn and face him. Both hands were clutched tightly around her middle now, and she felt tears threatening once more.

"You _know_ this means you'll never go to law school," her husband continued behind her, still shouting venomously at her back. "You'll spend the rest of your career in the Rat Squad. Openly disliked. The Ice Queen of Internal Affairs, spending her in a job of _convenience_." He spat the last word at the back of her head. "You don't want this, Sharon," he said quietly. "There's a clinic downtown. I'll take you first thing in the morning, and we'll get it taken care of."

Jack's final words took a moment to register with Sharon. Her eyes widened in understanding, and before she had time to think, she'd turned on her heel and brought her hand hard across his face. The sound of her palm striking his cheek echoed in the silence, and Sharon blinked in surprise. Jack staggered backward in shock, his hand clutched over the place she'd hit him.

Equally shocked at what she'd done, Sharon stepped toward him. "Honey, I—" She stopped, hands coming up to cover her mouth, and pelted to the kitchen sink. Leaning over, she heaved, retching noisily into the sink. She pulled her hair back with one hand and wiped her face with the other, closing her eyes and shuddering. She heard the front door slam and a car start before she felt safe to step away from the sink.

He was gone.

By the time Sharon had washed her face and felt secure that the nausea had subsided, it was getting dark outside and Laurie was due with Ricky at any moment. Sharon hadn't eaten, but she wasn't hungry. "Morning sickness, my ass," she muttered to herself as she scrubbed ferociously at the kitchen sink. It had been the same with Ricky; nausea at all hours of the day, punctuated by bouts of vomiting at the most inconvenient times.

The doorbell rang, followed by frantic knocking on the door. Sharon ran her fingers through her hair quickly, and padded quickly to the front door. Laurie stood there, her "fix-it" bag slung over a shoulder, Ricky at her feet frantically punching at the glass screen door with his tiny fists.

"MAMA!" He launched himself at her legs the moment she'd opened the screen door, and Sharon smiled.

"How did he do? Drive you completely crazy yet?" She crouched down and lifted her son into her arms as she spoke to Laurie.

Laurie winked. "I'm already crazy, Sharon. Your little guy isn't going to change that." She stepped into the house, pulling the door shut behind her. "I thought you were with Jack?"

"Oh, I was." She shot her friend a dark look over the top of Ricky's head. "'Was' being the operative word." She turned and lead Laurie into the living room. "Can you stay for a little while?"

Laurie laughed. "Absolutely. I brought provisions!" She held up the bag still hanging on her shoulder, and settled in an armchair across from the couch.

"No alcohol for me," Sharon said as she put Ricky down in a playpen in the corner. He looked up at her reproachfully for a moment, then caught sight of a plastic train right next to him and forgot about his displeasure.

"Sharon, you can have one glass of wine. You look like you could use it." Laurie pulled a bottle of white wine from her bag and went towards the kitchen.

Following, Sharon called out, "Wait." She caught up in the dining room and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "You go ahead, but I really can't."

Laurie stopped, turning back to Sharon. Uncharacteristically silent, she looked Sharon up and down. Then it clicked. "Oh my God! Of course! Congratulations!" She threw the unopened bottle of wine aside carelessly and launched herself at Sharon in excitement. Sharon's hand automatically darted out to steady the wine on the table as she hugged Laurie back.

"Okay, no wine." Laurie turned back to the living room. "I have some chocolate though. Wait—" She spun back to face Sharon, almost slapping her with her hair. "We _are_ happy about this, aren't we?" She looked down at Sharon's hands, folded over her stomach again.

Sharon's face broke into a smile. "Yes," she whispered quietly. "_We_ are." She sighed. "Jack, on the other hand…" Frowning, Sharon trailed off.

Watching Laurie take in these last words, Sharon could see her put the pieces together and almost instantly come to the correct conclusion. It amazed her sometimes, the way she and Laurie had built this sort of wordless repoire over the space of just a few months.

"I see. So, chocolate?" Laurie hurried over to her bag on the recently vacated chair and began rummaging through it energetically.

Sharon dropped onto the couch tiredly. "That's alright. Food and I are not very friendly at the moment, however." She sighed sadly. "I don't need anything from you right now. But I appreciate the thought." Sharon ran her fingers through her hair again, thinking about how truly joyous and excited she had been when she'd seen the baby earlier that day, only to have been brought crashing down to this emotional low. She looked up to find Laurie staring over at her with a strange look on her face.

"What?"

Grinning, Laurie straightened up again, abandoning the bag on the chair. "I know what you need." She turned to a cabinet along the wall and began looking through it a little needlessly (in Sharon's opinion) sloppily, flipping through tape decks and records.

Watching Laurie from the couch, Sharon tried not to betray her apprehension. Laurie was great. She was loud, great with the kids, full of energy, and practically fearless. But Laurie was more of a "let's see what would happen if…" sort of person, as opposed to Sharon's strictly regimented and organized mentality. Sometimes it was good for Sharon to let her hair down. But other times, Laurie's unbridled personality just made Sharon nervous.

"What are you doing?"

"Just gimme a second. You'll see."

Still trying not to sound too nervous, Sharon called out, "If you tell me what you're looking for, I could help…"

A hand waved impatiently in her direction. "Oh hush, Sharon. It's gonna be fine. AHA!" Laurie pulled out something that Sharon couldn't see, and almost clicked her heels in excitement. Sharon stifled a laugh. Laurie was such a child when she was excited.

Suddenly, loud rock music filled the room.

"What are we doing?" Sharon had to yell over the music. Ricky, still in the corner, had pulled himself to his feet and was looking around curiously.

_A Lucille, you won't do your sister's will_

_A Lucille, you won't do your sister's will_

_She's ran off and married but I love her still_

Laurie turned and grinned at her. "Come on, I know you have a thing for Springsteen." She swayed her hips a little, moving back toward Sharon.

"Uh uh. _We_ are not dancing." Sharon shook her head, pointing from herself to Laurie. "You go right ahead. But I'm not moving."

Hands above her head, Laurie started to dance over to the couch.

_Lucille, please come back where she belong_

_I'm speakin' to ya baby, please don't leave me alone_

Laurie was in front of her now, hand outstretched and grinning madly as she moved with the music. Sharon shook her head, holding back a smile, arms crossed resolutely over her chest.

"Come on, Sharon, you know you want to!" Laurie wagged her behind in Sharon's face with these words, and she finally cracked, bursting into giggles. Seeing her opening, Laurie grabbed Sharon's hand and pulled her to her feet and into the center of the room. "Let's see what you can do."

Ricky was still watching curiously from his corner as Sharon gave a halfhearted little sway and awkward shimmy. Laurie snorted and let out a peal of laughter.

_Lucille, baby satisfy my heart_

_Lucille, baby satisfy my heart_

_I believe I miss ya baby _

_And gave ya such a wonderful start_

"I thought you said you danced in college!"

Sharon shot her an exasperated look. "I did. But it was _ballet_, not," she motioned bewildered toward Laurie's waving arms and undulating hips, "whatever _that_ is!"

Laughing loudly, Laurie danced over to Ricky in the corner and lifted him out of the pen. "Come on, Ricky, we gotta show your Mom how it's done." She placed him on his feet, holding his hands above his head as he began to bounce up and down happily, not at all in time to the music, but in what was an unmistakeable dance. After a minute, Laurie released his hands and left him to bounce independently, joining hands with Sharon instead, swinging her around and pushing her hips this way and that. Sharon started to laugh as she moved, feeling some of the tension of the day beginning to ease and singing along a little with the song as she and Laurie danced around the bobbing Ricky.

_Lucille, baby satisfy my heart_

_Lucille, baby satisfy my heart_

Suddenly she heard the phone ring in the kitchen.

"Laurie, turn it down for a minute," she called over her shoulder as she hurried to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello," A male voice answered. "I'm looking for a Sharon Raydor?"

"Speaking."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Sergeant Bill Waters with airport security out here at LAX. And we've got a little emergency that requires your attention."

The tension that had started to ease only moments ago inched back into her neck and shoulders.

"What kind of emergency?"

"I'd really rather not say over the phone. If you could get down here as fast as you can, that would be best."

Sharon's mind raced, immediately landing on Jack. Had he fallen off the wagon and done something dangerous?

"If this is about my husband, I'm sure—"

"I really can't say over the phone. Not until I've verified your identity. Can I expect your arrival within an hour?"

"Yes, of course," Sharon replied and hung up.

**I sincerely hope there was enough fluff there to keep you all off the ledge. A storm is coming, so you know, prepare yourselves! On another note, I hate to beg, but the response (or rather, the lack thereof) to this story has been a little disheartening. I really do love hearing from you, and take your comments to heart. So I'd really love it if you could drop a line or two here or over on Tumblr. It encourages me. **

**[Sidenote- Yes, I did squeal and have a little dance party when I saw that Mary's new interview this week shares a title with this story. It was thrilling, and also very validating to hear that my idea regarding relationships shaping Sharon are important and crucial to her character from Mary herself.]**


	7. Born to Run

**This has been by far, the hardest chapter to write. I know I promised this chapter a few days ago, but it was much more difficult than anticipated. But really good to write and get out there. In other news, the overwhelming response to Laurie last week was just so gratifying. As I said to some of you, we Sharons need the Lauries of the world. So whether you're a Sharon or a Laurie or somewhere in-between, it's wonderful to see so many of you responding to these two on a personal level. Finally, a little shout-out to yetanotherramblingfangirl. Her unbridled enthusiasm and support of this story makes my days brighter :D**

The Ties That Bind

Chapter VII: Born to Run

_Someday girl I don't know when _

_we're gonna get to that place _

_Where we really wanna go _

_and we'll walk in the sun _

_But till then tramps like us _

_baby we were born to run _

_Oh honey, tramps like us_

_baby we were born to run _

The streets were dark. Quiet. Belying the storm of anxiety raging in Sharon. Everything was spiraling out of control. Almost as if her feet hadn't been on solid ground for weeks, since before that little bundle of cells began to grow inside of her. The car was silent; she wouldn't allow herself to be distracted by music. Sharon's knuckles were white on the steering wheel in front of her. She clutched it tightly, as if by grasping at the one controllable thing in front of her, she might be able to bring her world back into order. She drove in silence, thinking again of all the possible horrors that might await her at the airport.

Humiliation. She could just imagine the sort of mess Jack might have made, reeking of alcohol and throwing insults at the TSA.

Injury. Jack putting himself on the wrong side of someone in the airport, suddenly reduced to an exhausted blob, blood dripping slowly from his nose.

Death.

But Sharon's mind refused to think beyond the word. She was furious at him. Angrier than she had been in a long time. But not yet angry enough to wish her husband bodily harm. One hand finally released the steering wheel in front of her, fingertips coming to rub absently at her forehead in that subtle sign of her emotional distress. Refusing to think any more about the possible scenarios waiting at the airport, her last conversation with Jack playing over in her head once more.

A light mist of spit flying across the room, landing on the back of her neck as Jack screamed at her.

The nausea and fatigue, seeming to almost overpower her as she listened to Jack's tirade behind her.

The copper taste on her tongue that accompanied the sudden unmanageable rage coursing through her at his final words.

A smacking sound that met her ears before she felt the sting of his cheek against her hand.

Sharon sighed heavily now, her knuckles white and strained against the steering wheel once more. She was still horrified at what she had done. Laurie had managed to distract her from the cold feeling inside. But now it was back. Alone in the dark car, there was no way to hide from it. The shame.

She still couldn't understand how it had happened. One moment she'd been standing calmly with her back to Jack as he shouted. The next, he had spoken those terrible words. And the rage had cut through her like a knife, calm stillness lying discarded on the ground as she suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a hand meeting skin violently, saw Jack stagger away in shock, and finally felt the sting of her action, warm and prickly on her reddened palm.

Sharon didn't hit people. She knew how to, of course. She could subdue a suspect physically. She knew where to punch, where to thrust, how to shift strategically. But she only did it under extreme duress. Like that day when she'd shot a man for the first time. Or a month ago, when an officer she'd investigated and subsequently suspended came at her in the parking lot, fists swinging. Sharon didn't hit people. She discussed. She negotiated. She laid things out clearly and concisely, allowing her words to deliver the punch. Words hit hard, they hit fast, and they were far more powerful than any physical assault. Words lasted.

Sharon didn't hit people.

Which was why she had been so shocked and ashamed tonight. Violence was not how she and Jack worked out their problems. Jack had gotten very close to hitting her once. But he had never crossed that line. And the idea that she had been the one to strike first tormented her. Loathe as she was to admit it, Sharon knew that her status as a hormone casserole, complicated by her prolonged emotional stress at the prospect of Jack's reaction, topped off by Jack's suggestion that she "take care of" her pregnancy had all combined to create her violent reaction. But it wasn't an excuse. If anything, it made it worse. The idea that she might be out of control, that the men on the force who had alluded to the supposed raging emotional tendencies of women might be right, that she was becoming ruled by emotions, terrified her. She took a deep breath as she finally parked, and quietly vowed to maintain her calmness as this and any other subsequent catastrophe unfolded.

Five minutes later, she'd made it calmly and uneventfully to a security checkpoint. She flashed her badge and was escorted back into some office space without incident. She waited for a time in a rather uncomfortable chair, until finally a young man in a TSA uniform walked through the door and addressed her.

"Mrs. Raydor?"

He was about her age, clean shaven with dark hair and a not unattractive face. Sharon nodded, and he extended a hand.

"Sergeant Bill Waters, Ma'am. We spoke on the phone."

They shook hands briefly, and Sharon spoke.

"It's detective Raydor, actually. So can you tell me what the problem is here?"

Waters nodded and turned back to the door.

"If you'll follow me, Ma'am."

Sharon rose to her feet again and followed him out into the hall. He lead her down the narrow hall, around two corners, and finally through a door at the end of an identical narrow hallway. They were in a small room with a table and chairs. A dark shape was hunched over the table, a quiet snoring emanating from it. As Sharon looked on, the shape shifted and her husband's face became visible. He was asleep, pale and slightly drawn. The faint smell of alcohol lingered on the air. It seemed when Jack fell off the wagon, he fell hard.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing worth pursuing, ma'am. He attempted to purchase an airline ticket to Chicago with a credit card that was declined. When we refused to sell him the ticket, he verbally assaulted the desk attendant, and then proceeded to argue loudly and irrationally with the other passengers in line, two members of my security team, and an additional desk attendant. He was clearly inebriated and quite possibly a danger to the other people in the terminal, so he was restrained and brought back here to sleep it off." He withdrew from the room, motioning for Sharon to follow him back out into the hall, closing the door behind them and continuing, "I'm sorry to drag you out here so late, but it was the only solution. He technically didn't do anything illegal, so we can't hold him, as I'm sure you know. But my bosses don't want him released unsupervised, given his performance earlier this evening. They wanted assurances that I would only release him to family. So here we are."

Sharon leaned back against the wall behind her, breathing deeply. Chicago. Of course. He was running for her parents, probably hoping they would volunteer to take this baby as well. And drunk to boot. She set aside the declined credit card for a moment, choosing to handle the other problems first.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I'll take it from here."

Panting slightly, Sharon heaved Jack into the passenger seat out in the parking garage.

"Sharn, I can get in the damn car," he slurred quietly.

She hummed in obvious disbelief, shutting the door on him. "I'm not so sure," she whispered as she came back around to the driver's side and got in. Not wanting to reach over her husband to roll down the window, she just glared over at him and cracked her own window, trying not to inhale too deeply in the enclosed space. Silently she pulled out of the parking garage, pointing the car back home.

Neither spoke for a while. Sharon thought that Jack had probably dozed off again when his voice suddenly broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, babe. I did something st—stuh—stupid." He struggled to get his drunken tongue around the last word.

Wind from the slightly open window next to Sharon washed across her, and she nodded, not taking her eyes from the road. "I know. And I really should not have hit you. That was a really terrible thing to do." Her knuckles were white against the steering wheel once again. "But we can't have this conversation right now. We'll talk when you've straightened out." Her tone suggested that the subject was closed, and they rode the rest of the way home in silence.

The house was dark and still when they arrived; Laurie had volunteered to take Ricky for the night. Jack seemed to have sobered some during the drive, and made it out of the car and into the house independently. Sharon followed, a few steps behind him, and watched him collapse onto the couch. Clearly he'd come down from his high some time ago, and was starting to climb out of the hole.

"How many drinks, Jack?"

He looked up at her and at least had the decency to look ashamed. "Five. Maybe six. I dunno, Sharon."

"How long ago?" She stood across from him, watching him beadily.

"A while." He wasn't slurring anymore, but still looked unsteady.

She turned away from him, back into the hall. "Alright. You're going to sleep it off down here," she called over her shoulder, opening the linen closet and pulling down an extra pillow and sheets. "Ricky is staying over at the Calders', so we _will_ be talking first thing in the morning." She set the pillow and sheets on the end of the couch, opposite Jack. "Goodnight, Jack." She turned from him without another word, up to her empty bed and a sleepless night.

She finally drifted off to sleep after a few hours, only to be woken by the phone ringing in the hall only moments later, or so it seemed to Sharon. Sunlight was streaming through the window. Her bedside clock read _8:12 am_. It was Saturday, so it didn't really matter, but over-sleeping She rose with a sigh, hurrying into the hall to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"Sharon!" Laurie's voice came brightly through the receiver. "Wait. Did I wake you? This must be a first. I thought I held the monopoly on the grouchy early morning attitude!"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "I don't believe you heard an attitude. I only said 'hello,'" she replied snarkily.

"Uh-huh. And there's no attitude?"

Grinning ruefully to herself, Sharon replied, "Okay, fine. There's a little bit of an attitude. But only because I'm tired all the time now. Sorry. Do you need me to come get Ricky? A little overwhelmed? I know you've been keeping him more than usual the last few days."

Laurie's voice rushed to assure her, "Oh, no. Ricky's a joy. Jim loves having him over." Sharon turned to lean against the wall as Laurie chattered in her ear. She twisted the cord around her fingers and sank to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. "You know my husband. He just loves having an extra someone of the penis-persuasion to skew the odds in their favor."

Sharon froze and fought back a giggle. "Laurie, do you think we could keep this conversation away from my son's genetalia?"

There was a pause as they both held back laughter at the absurd turn the call had suddenly taken. Laurie recovered first. "Right. Well I was calling just to check in, make sure everything is alright after whatever happened last night."

"We're fine. It's a long story. Can you keep Ricky until lunch? I'll be by later to pick him up."

"No problem. We'll talk later."

Sharon hung up and got to her feet. Turning back to the bedroom briefly, she pulled a robe from its place hanging on the door and swung it over her shoulders before heading downstairs.

Jack was already awake, sipping some coffee in the kitchen when she arrived. Neither of them spoke as she entered and pulled down a mug from the cabinet beside him. When she turned to the stove, however, Jack broke the silence.

"Made some herbal tea for you. It's over there." He nodded toward the teapot on the counter beside the stove. "I got it out of the caffeine-free box. " Sharon tried to smile in appreciation; he knew she drank only tea on the weekends. But one small considerate act wasn't making her feel any kinder toward him at the moment.

She poured herself a cup of tea and turned back to face her husband. "I'm going to have to expand that caffeine-free box," she whispered, gazing down into her cup. "Given the… Situation." They were both silent again, the possibility of all the changes approaching just hanging in the air between them. It didn't matter if you had one child or twenty, Sharon realized. A new child added to the mix always brought unimaginable change.

"So," she began softly. "You going to tell me what happened yesterday?"

Jack sighed, leaning against a counter opposite and avoiding her eyes. "Not much to tell. What do you want me to say? I fell off the wagon and did something stupid."

Sharon glared over at him. "I was actually referring to what happened before that. Your evening activities are rather self-explanatory, really."

He continued to avoid her gaze. "You were there, Sharon. What do you want from me?"

Putting down her cup, Sharon straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't do that, Jack. Look at me." His eyes finally met hers at the words. "Don't turn your back and avoid. I know that it's easier for you that way. If you ignore a problem, it doesn't exist. But I can't let you do it anymore." Their conversation was still quiet, civil; but no one could miss the hard bite in her voice now. "This," she brushed her abdomen softly with one hand, "is not something you can ignore." She gazed at him steadily. "We are a team. We didn't play our best yesterday, I know." Her eyes dropped in shame for the first time, for no more than a split second. "But you're part of this, Jack. And ignoring your team members makes for some bad plays."

Jack's face was solemn, his eyes returning to the coffee in front of him. "A sports metaphor, Sharon? Really?" But there was no humor in his words. Sharon sipped her tea, waiting. "So you want to know what happened yesterday afternoon?" He sighed and put his coffee down beside the sink. "I'll tell you what happened. I came home after a long day of trial preparation, hoping for a quiet weekend." Jack seemed unable to maintain the quiet civil tone that Sharon had set, and his voice rose in volume and ire as he continued. "Instead, my wife dropped a bomb in the middle of our living room and slapped me when I tried to diffuse it."

Sharon's eyes flashed at his words, and her mouth opened to retort, but Jack beat her to it.

"What? You can give me some cheesy bullshit team player speech, but I can't return the favor with my own metaphor?"

Taking a deep calming breath, Sharon spoke again, the same quiet sharpness in her voice. "No, Jack, you can't. Setting aside the egregiousness of referring to our child as a bomb, that is completely inaccurate. And therein lies the problem." Jack opened his mouth to argue, but Sharon cut him off, silencing him with a hand. "Don't interrupt me, Jack." Silence fell again, and she continued. "You refuse to accept your part in all of this. You are no longer a singular person; your actions effect all of us. You cannot live your life with the understanding that what you do doesn't have consequences on others anymore. I did not just decide to get pregnant again. We made a decision, months ago, to stop birth control. I did not decide to get pregnant the first time, either; that was a joint effort as well. We made a decision, years ago, to share our lives." She stopped, on hand coming up to her mouth. The nausea and dizziness was back. She swayed on the spot, swallowing hard.

Jack didn't notice, jumping back in the moment she paused.

"Well excuse me for thinking that I could have some independence in this 'shared life'!" He was shouting now. "Why do you think I wanted to go to Chicago?!"

"Honestly, I'm not interested."

"Because your mother was right. We aren't parent material. And I thought that maybe this time, you'd listen to her instead of changing yourself into someone you're not just to spite her!"

Sharon stared stonily back at him, clenching her fists at her side, tea lying forgotten on the counter. She was determined never to let her emotions overpower her like they had yesterday. But the nausea rolled in her stomach once more, forcing her to hold up a hand. "Excuse me one moment. We are not finished, Jack." She spoke placidly as she hurried down the hall to the rather unused downstairs bathroom, praying she would make it to the toilet this time instead of a sink. She secured her hair behind her head with one hand when she reached the door, leaning over and heaving into the toilet just in time. She waited cautiously after the bile left her throat, making sure that there was no more coming. When it seemed that she was finished, she flushed and straightened, turning to wash her face and mouth quickly before returning to the kitchen calmly as if there had been no interruption.

Surprisingly, Jack was where she'd left him.

"I don't know how else to say this, Jack." She spoke fiercely, but quietly. "I'm sorry I lost my temper with you yesterday. It was unforgivable. But your comments were unnecessarily hurtful, and equally unacceptable." She closed her eyes briefly and continued, "I love my children. Both of them." Her left hand, wedding ring glinting brightly on a finger, unconsciously came to rest protectively over her abdomen. "Even this little one I don't even know yet. I've seen this new one, though, and I already love them." She smiled a little tearfully at the thought of the baby. "And I know that you can be a wonderful father."

She knew they were both thinking of the day not long ago, when Ricky and Jack had returned from the zoo, both glowing with excitement after the fun of the day. She'd been so hopeful as she'd seen Jack slowly becoming comfortable around Ricky over the last months, his sobriety bringing back the man she'd fallen in love with.

Jack was still silently watching her, his anger perhaps tempered by her words and the fond memory they had evoked.

"So here is what's going to happen now," Sharon murmured. "You are going to find a meeting. There's a list on the desk upstairs in your office, and you're going to go to one today." She crossed her arms. "And you're going to take the time to come up with a way to come to terms with your responsibilities. I will go pick up Ricky and come up with my own plan for how to make this better for both of us. This afternoon, we'll talk again."

Jack sighed and nodded. "I'll make that deal."

"MAMA!"

Ricky's tiny body collided with her legs the moment the door opened, shrieking excitedly and hugging her tightly around the knees. Jim, Laurie's husband, held the door open for Sharon as she maneuvered herself with difficulty over the threshold, Ricky's tight hold around her legs making it nearly impossible to walk. Jim looked mildly amused at her predicament. Laurie, coming around the corner moments after the door closed behind Sharon, made no effort to hold back her laughter as Sharon nearly tumbled to the ground.

Giving Laurie a quelling look, Sharon crouched down and extricated her son from her legs, lifting him up to rest on her hip. "Hi there, little man," she whispered affectionately, planting a quick kiss on the top of his head as he brought it down to rest on her shoulder. "Did you have a good time?" He babbled indistinctly into her neck and she smiled. "I'll take that as a yes?" She looked over at Jim and Laurie for confirmation.

Laurie nodded with her usual enthusiasm. "He was perfect, Sharon. His first sleepover! And it was a great success."

Jim nodded next to her in agreement. "He's practically part of the family now. Makes me wonder if we should have a third one," he chuckled, elbowing Laurie in the ribs with a nod toward Ricky in Sharon's arms.

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Laurie pushed at her husband playfully. "Oh, no, mister. Don't get any ideas." She turned from the front door, leading them into the house. "Come on in, Sharon. We're about to have lunch."

Sharon followed them through the house, stepping carefully around the usual assortment of toys and knick-knacks scattered around the house. Laurie and Jim's housekeeping style was a far cry from her own impeccable cleanliness; it was part of their charm at this point.

They entered the kitchen, and Sharon saw a group of prepared children's plates gathered on a counter; cheerios, finely chopped assorted fruit and cheese, and a few saltine crackers divided between two of the plates, what looked like a peanut butter sandwich and baby carrots on the third.

"Thomas! Sarah! Lunch!" Laurie shouted into the hall. "I mean," she continued normally, her words directed at her husband, "if you want to be filled with raging hormones, expand like a beached whale, have your body commandeered by a bowling ball-sized object growing inside of you, only to push said bowling ball out a very small hole at the end of nine months. You go for it, Jim." Laurie stopped, looking guiltily at Sharon as Sarah and Thomas hurried into the kitchen.

"Sorry, Sharon. I didn't…"

But Sharon just smiled and waved away her apology over the kerfuffle now ensuing around the table. Thomas and Jim were running around the room as Jim 'flew' Thomas into his booster seat with accompanying airplane noises from both. Ricky was babbling loudly in Sharon's arms and Laurie was clattering plates and utensils on the counter. Above it all, Laurie's four-year-old's voice emerged.

"Mom, why would Daddy push a bowling ball through a tiny hole?"

Laurie froze. "He's not," she said simply, sharing a bemused look with Sharon, who was settling Ricky in a high chair next to the table.

But Sarah did not give up easily. "But you just said he could." Sarah had climbed up into a chair beside Sharon, now sitting next to her son at the table. Sarah smiled up at her, startlingly blue eyes contrasting prettily with her dark hair and pale complexion. "Hi."

Sharon smiled in turn back at Sarah. "Hi, Sarah."

Laurie caught Sharon's gaze again, looking a little desperate. "It was a joke, Sarah."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "Well, it wasn't funny."

Sharon tried not to laugh at the look of exasperation on Laurie's face.

"The grown-ups are having leftover pasta from last night, Sharon. That work for you?" Laurie came over to the table, hands full of the kids' plates, and put them in front of the appropriate child.

"That's fine," Sharon replied as the kids began to eat. "Can I help with anything?"

"No, you stay there. I've got it."

Finally Laurie made it back to the table and everyone had food in front of them. The meal passed relatively uneventfully. Well, as uneventfully as a meal ever did at the Calders'. The sort of wild enthusiasm and unbridled energy that was characteristic of their house could be exhausting for Sharon. Today, it was refreshing. She had needed this, after the last few days' events.

The kids all finished their food without incident. Of course, Ricky was covered with bits of soggy cracker a mashed fruit, Thomas in a similar state of mess, and Sarah sticky-fingered and squirmy by the end. But nothing new.

"So Sharon," Jim said as they finished their food, "I hear you have some news. Laurie refused to tell me anything until we saw you. I must say I'm curious." He leaned back in his seat, smiling across at her.

"Jim! I told you not to push her!" Laurie threw her napkin across the table at him, hitting him squarely in the face. _Sorry!_ She mouthed at Sharon from her place on the other side of Sarah.

"It's fine." She folded her hands neatly in her lap and continued, "Jack and I are going to have another baby."

Jim's face lit up. Next to Sharon, little Sarah stopped squirming in her chair and looked up at Sharon. Thomas and Ricky seemed to understand something was going on, though they weren't quite sure what; they cackled loudly and beat excitedly on the table (or tray, in Ricky's case) in front of them.

Sarah pulled herself onto her knees in her chair, rising closer to Sharon's level and looking steadily into Sharon's eyes. "You're gonna have a baby?"

Sharon nodded.

"That's really good," Sarah said seriously and pulled Sharon's neck down into a hug.

Jim laughed loudly at Sharon's slightly bemused expression. "That's wonderful, Sharon."

Sarah released her, suddenly concerned. "But will Santa know to bring presents for the baby? I can write another letter so he knows."

Sharon smiled down at the little girl. "That's very sweet, honey. But Christmas is only a few weeks away, and my baby is still too little. We won't even get to see this little one until June."

The little girl took all of this in, then nodded. "Okay. I'll ask Santa to save her a present. Then I'll give it to her when she gets here."

"_Her_, huh?" Sharon brushed some hair out of Sarah's face. "You think this one's a girl, then?"

Sarah shrugged, as if it was obvious. "Of course you're having a girl. You already have a boy!"

Laurie stood up from the table. "Obviously, Sharon!" She winked. "Who can argue with logic like that?" She started to clear the dishes from the table. "Jim, can you get the kids cleaned up and take them in the other room for a while?"

Jim nodded immediately and corralled the children into the adjoining living room, lifting Thomas and Ricky down from their seats and chasing them in the right direction with accompanying monster noises. The children shrieked and fled appropriately.

"Have a nice chat, ladies." He turned toward the doorway. "I'M COMING TO EAT YOU DELICIOUS CHILDREN!" And he scuffled off in pursuit of his prey.

Sharon watched him go a little sadly.

"Hey. Sharon." Laurie's voice brought her back to the table. She started to pull plates and napkins toward her, methodically stacking and sorting. After a moment, Laurie's hands stopped her.

"Stop." Laurie pushed the stack of plates aside and sat down again. "What happened last night?"

Sighing heavily, Sharon sat back down and began to speak. In fits and starts, she recounted the entire tale, including the fight with Jack the day before that she had previously failed to mention to Laurie. Her friend listened carefully, waiting for Sharon to finish before speaking.

"I see," she said finally. "Well I know you need a friend right now, and not a shrink, so…" Laurie reached for Sharon's hand, resting on the table. "I'm here to help you in whatever way I can." She squeezed Sharon's hand in both of her own. "So what can I do?"

Sharon blinked back a few tears. "Nothing right now. Jack will be home any minute, so we really should be getting home." She pulled her hand out from between Laurie's and got to her feet. "I'm sure you're sick of Ricky by now anyway." She started back to the hall. "Could you go find my child while I go get his things together?"

"No problem. That, I can do."

When Sharon and Ricky finally made it back to the house about an hour later, Jack's car was still gone. He'd left for a meeting not far from their house before Sharon had gone to the Calders', so she wasn't sure if it was a good or bad sign that he still wasn't home. Ricky was nodding off on her shoulder as she carried him into the house, so she went straight upstairs to put him down for a nap in his room.

Sleepovers were always fun in the moment, but eventually everyone crashed; particularly one-year-old little boys who were not accustomed to the relentless activity at Laurie and Jim's. But when she leaned over the railing to put Ricky in bed, he fussed noisily.

"No!" Ricky clutched desperately to her front in distress, and Sharon sighed, straightening slowly with her son still in her arms. She turned to the rocking chair just to the left, and settled them both in it gently. She began to hum softly as she rocked, eventually beginning to sing that silly little song she'd heard as a child herself.

"Skid-a-ma-rink-a-dinky-dink, Skid-a-ma-rink-a-doo, I love you."

He was growing too large for her to cradle anymore, instead straddling her lap with his head nestled above her breast. Her head was tilted slightly so that her cheek was resting just on top of his head as she sang softly, rocking back and forth in the chair.

"Skid-a-ma-rink-a-dinky-dink, Skid-a-ma-rink-a-doo, I love you…"

Ricky shifted slightly in her lap, eyes drifting closed, but still holding tightly to Sharon's shirt.

"I love you in the morning, and in the afternoon. I love you in the evening, underneath the moon…"

She sneaked a peek down at his face as she continued, and saw his eyes had snapped back open, staring out at the room.

"You're right. That isn't a song for us right now." She thought for a moment, her mind lighting on a song, accompanied by a memory of a song her oldest sister had sung into the bathroom mirror with a hairbrush in hand.

"Who knows how long I've loved you, you know I love you still—Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to, I will." Her voice was quiet, low, as she sang into his ear, rocking slowly and rubbing his back.

"For if I ever saw you, I didn't catch your name—But it never really mattered, I will always feel the same."

Ricky's eyes began to drift shut again, and Sharon smiled.

"Love you forever, and forever, love you with all my heart," she continued softly. "Love you whenever we're together, love you when we're apart."

His breathing was even now, So Sharon got gingerly to her feet, swaying back over to the crib and softly placing him in the blankets.

"And when at last I find you, your song will fill the air," Sharon continued quietly as she walked out the door, a little lost in a memory: standing before the mirror with Mary, singing into a hairbrush and watching her infinitely cooler older sister dance. "Sing it loud, so I can hear you," She continued down the hall, swaying a little and thinking a nap might be in order for her as well. She drifted toward her own bedroom, pushing the door open easily. "Make it easy to be near you. For the things you do endear you to me…"

Sharon trailed off, her eyes immediately drawn to the pillows on the bed. Or, more accurately, the white envelope resting there. Her name was written in black magic marker across the front of it, and it seemed rather thick. She tore it open swiftly and removed the contents carefully. On top was a credit card statement, with an overdue balance highlighted in red, $1527.83. She scanned the charges, trying to make sense of it, but saw only the usual living expenses, groceries, their car payments. Why had he put it all on the card? She set it aside, on the bed. Next was a stapled series of five pages that detailed the activity in their joint checking account. Pages and pages of withdrawals and deposits that Sharon had not instigated, all within the last three months. The final page showed their account balance. Sharon gasped. $147.76. Flipping through the statement, she could see her paycheck going in, accompanied by Jack's (now quite substantial), but almost immediately being depleted by large cash withdrawals. She sank to the bed in disbelief and finally looked at the final piece of paper in her hand: a relatively short, handwritten note.

_Dear Sharon, _

_You're right. Our life is not one in which I can act purely for myself. We made a vow, to be partners. I just wish you could understand how much I wanted that. But I can't live like that. I need the independence that a shared life with anyone just doesn't afford me. I can't be the person other people count on, as you can clearly see. _

_I went to a meeting today, like you asked. Because you're right, I really do still love you, and you always get your way in the end. I can't spend my life looking at the bottom of a bottle. I know that. But I can't spend it as one half of a team either. I'm just not built for it. I hope someday I might learn to be. But not today. Today I just want the freedom to bet my paycheck on an okay hand of cards and not have to worry about anyone else. I want to live without being forced into situations I have no control over. _

_Don't come after me. I'll come when I'm ready. _

_Jack_

Sharon read it twice, very quickly, then tossed it angrily on the pile with the rest of the envelope's contents. Tears streamed silently down her face as leaned back, falling to the bed and bringing her knees up into her torso, rolling to her side. The final notes of Ricky's little lullaby hung in the air around her, unsung, unheard.

_Oh, you know I will. I will._

Closing her eyes tightly against the world, Sharon curled in on herself, letting the tears fall freely. As exhaustion and grief washed over her, one final thought registered in her despairing mind.

_What if…_

**So, anyone who can name that song (not the one at the beginning, that's just easy) will get virtual chocolate. For anyone concerned by the loose canon interpretation I went with here, I'll just say I'm happy to discuss my timeline with you and the reasons behind it. It was not random, I assure you. **

**Coming up next: A **_**very**_** unconventional chapter that I'm just having a ball writing.**


	8. Some Other Me

**Okay, I'm gonna try not to talk and just let you take this in without a lot of commentary. What I will say is that this story was highly influenced by the musical If/Then back when I was planning it in April and May. I'm not the only one getting Sharon feels about that show; I just saw someone else using a song from it in their Sharon fic (check out WickedIsWicked's fic, **_**You Learn to Live Without**_**, I highly recommend it). Anyway. You'll notice more lyrics at the beginning. Read them. Go find the song on youtube. Because you just can't do Idina Menzel on paper. It doesn't work. Now go ahead and read. You'll figure out what's going on soon enough. **

_**Previously… We left our dear heroine, Sharon Raydor, falling into a fitful sleep after realizing her husband left her, taking her for just about all she was worth. With a 14-month-old in the cradle and a second child on the way, she drifts of to sleep in the middle of the day, wondering 'what if…'**_

The Ties That Bind

Chapter VIII: Some Other Me

_Somewhere there's a world where you and I are man and wife_

_We have a child; we're three; and it's just fine with me _

_To love that life. _

_And somewhere there's a world where from the first, we never met we never spoke_

_Or kissed; we don't know what we missed_

_Or don't know yet._

_And I didn't go to Vasser, but to Smith, or Yale, or Brown. _

_I ended up in Boston or some small Alaskan town_

_To practice law, or neuter cats, or fish the Bering Sea_

_Those lives are lived somewhere_

_By some other me_

_Some other me is homeless_

_Some other me is queen_

_Some other me has seen things that no other me has seen_

_If I met her, I would ask her_

_That one question we both fear,_

_Some other me _

_How do we end up here?_

THUMP.

Her eyes snapped open. There was another muffled sound of impact, followed by what could only be described as a sort of soft slither.

Sharon rose quickly and swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed and onto the cold hard wood floor. Rubbing her arms quickly in a vain attempt at warmth, she tiptoed over to the window, searching for the source of the sound. Snow was falling heavily outside again. It looked close to five inches now. The weight of the snow seemed to have proved too much for one of the branches just outside the window, and it had broken off, falling onto the snow-cushioned portion of the roof on the other side of the glass. Sharon watched as the branch slowly slid down the snow-caked gradually sloping roof outside. She sighed and turned back to her bedroom. Winter in Chicago was always rough for a light sleeper like Sharon. The whistling winds, snow that went bump in the night, and nearly constant scratching and creaking of trees and the house itself under the weight of snow and ice was not conducive to a good nights' sleep. Yet somehow she'd managed it all those years growing up in Chicago just fine. It was in these post-Graduate years that it had become an issue. Her father would say that those New England winters up at Brown and the surrounding area had softened her. Only Chicagoans would ever claim winter in New England was lightweight.

Still rubbing her arms vigorously for warmth, Sharon glanced at the clock on her nightstand. _6:28 am_. _No point in going back to bed now. I__'__d be up in fifteen minutes anyway. _She walked slowly over to the bathroom on the other side of the bed, flicking on a light as she entered and heading immediately for the shower. She stood under the stream of water for ten minutes, going deliberately over every aspect of the eventful day before her. She was out again quickly, wrapping a towel firmly around herself and standing in front of the mirror.

Thirty minutes later, Sharon had descended the narrow stairs to the second landing of her modest town house; she wore a fashionable but unremarkable business suit, complete with a meticulously tailored jacket and skirt, as well as nude stockings, and black pumps. Hair pulled back into a sleek bun, Sharon glided across the small living room and into the kitchen. It was small, appropriate for a young single working woman; any addition would have crowded the space. Sharon put on a pot of tea and removed a yogurt from the refrigerator. She pulled a file from her case on a stool by the counter and spread it out before her, leaning slightly to peruse it while she ate her breakfast.

_Today is an ordinary day, _she reminded herself sternly. _Court may not be ordinary, but you know the case and have nothing to worry about._

The pot on the stove whistled loudly, and Sharon put aside the yogurt to make a cup of tea. She turned back to the file as the tea steeped, looking carefully over the statements and running the case over in her mind. _Steven Marks, 22, arrested and charged with the second-degree murder of his 21-year-old girlfriend, Louise Mueller, who was found dead in her apartment after being stabbed five times with a kitchen knife. He was identified by fingerprints at the scene. _Sharon scooped a final spoonful of yogurt into her mouth and tossed the empty container into the trashcan beside her, cleaning the spoon between her lips and reaching for the teapot. She poured a generous measure into a petite cup before her and stirred in a small spoonful of sugar before bringing the cup to her lips. _You just have to go into court today and play your part; the law will do the rest._

By 7:45, Sharon had consumed two cups of tea and had replaced the file in the black case. The solitary spoon and teacup were rinsed and settled on the drying rack, and Sharon headed out into the living room toward the stairs once more. At the bottom of the first landing, Sharon placed her case on the floor beside the door for a moment while she wound a thick scarf around her throat and reached for a thick woolen coat and hat. Pulling on a final barrier to the cold, a pair of fleece-lined leather gloves, Sharon finally headed out of the side door and into the garage with her case in hand.

When she arrived at the office over an hour later—thick snowfall might not be unusual in Chicago, but it still caused one hell of a traffic jam—it was five to nine and the light nervous fluttering had transformed into full-blown butterflies accompanied by trembling knees. Sharon masked it admirably, however. A lifetime of acting the part with Chicago Society and nosy relatives had more than prepared her for the sort of repressed emotion that her profession called for. The nerves were completely understandable in Sharon's mind. _It__'__s my first murder case on my own; of course I__'__m nervous. But this is what you wanted when you went after that promotion._ But she couldn't let her colleagues see how anxious she was; they were already giving her grief about her big hair and stockings on a daily basis. She'd never gain their respect if she allowed herself to be reduced to a shaking puddle of nerves.

Sharon marched into the bull pen, coat fluttering open in her hurry, and stopped briefly at her desk.

"Aren't you supposed to be in court?"

Rifling through the files on her desk, she waved impatiently at the speaker. He was about her age, short and stocky with round wire glasses and dark hair. "I'm going across the street now, Daniel. I just stopped by quickly to give you this." She pulled a file from the pile as she spoke the last word, handing it across the barrier between her own desk and her co-worker.

"What? Why me?"

Sharon shook her head impatiently without looking up from the files, picking out a few folders and slipping them into her leather case. "It came in last night. I obviously don't have time for it. The boss said you should take it. Take a look before you complain, Daniel. It's right up your alley." She snapped the case closed again and turned on her heel, heading back out. "Good luck," she called over her shoulder, waving blindly as she departed.

Sharon all but ran through the snow, across the street to the Cooke County courthouse. She had two minutes to get up to the courtroom, _or the Judge and the District Attorney will have my head_. She flew down the halls, pulling off her coat and hat as she ran, fluffing her hair a bit and slinging her outerwear over an arm before sliding to a halt in front of an impressive door. She slipped through just as she heard a bailiff cry out to the court room.

"All rise, the honorable Judge Richard David Schroeder presiding."

An older bearded man in a black robe entered from his chambers as Sharon walked down the gallery to her seat.

"You may sit," the judge growled from the bench. "This court is now in session." He brought down the gavel tiredly and everyone was seated.

The bailiff spoke again. "Docket ending 20452, the people of Illinois versus Steven Marks. One count murder in the second degree."

The judge nodded absently. "Yes, yes. Let's get this moving, shall we?" He looked down his nose at the lawyers before him. "Appearances."

"Deputy D.A. Sharon Eileen Gleason for the People, your honor." Sharon stood as she spoke, focussed on maintaining her characteristic façade of calmness and removing her files and notes from her briefcase.

"Jonah Stern for the defense, your honor. However, my associate here will be taking first chair."

Sharon didn't look up, still concentrated on organizing her paperwork on the table before her as the judge spoke.

"Then please, Mr. Stern, allow your associate to take first chair."

"Your honor, Diane Lockhart for the defense."

Sharon's head finally snapped up at that. A very tall, thin blond woman was standing across from her at the defense table. _Wise move_, Sharon thought to herself, _using a women to lodge the defense._ It was still rather unusual to face a woman in the courtroom, particularly in the criminal court. If Sharon was completely honest, she was a little thrown by the prospect of arguing against a woman. She'd already completed voire dire and all her trial preparation with the understanding that she'd be facing Stern. However, this could work to her advantage.

"Alright," grumbled the judge lowly. "Before I bring in the jury, are there any motions?"

The woman opposite Sharon immediately got to her feet. "Yes, your honor. The defense moves for dismissal of the sole charge of murder in the second degree on the grounds that the People have not met their burden of proof."

Sharon could have sworn Judge Schroeder rolled his eyes. "I'm sure the People have something to say about that, Miss…" He trailed off, looking wearily in Sharon's direction.

Immediately rising to her feet, Sharon spoke as calmly as she could manage with the storm of butterflies now raging in her stomach. "Gleason, your honor. And yes. In our products of discovery, we cite overwhelming evidence that the defendant perpetrated the crime for which he is charged, including this fingerprint analysis." She held up two copies of the analysis and the bailiff stepped forward to distribute them. "As you can see in the report, your honor, forensic evidence clearly ties the defendant to the crime scene."

"Mr. Marks was in an established relationship with the victim," Ms. Lockhart argued. "Of course his fingerprints were present in the apartment. There are no prints on the weapon. There's absolutely no indication that the fingerprints present in the apartment were unusual or point to any commission of a crime."

"Your Honor," Sharon responded, "the report clearly states that the two sets of crucial fingerprints, one on a kitchen drawer where the knife was kept, and one on the doorknob, were left _after_ the murder, evidenced by the presence of blood under the prints."

"The defense aims to challenge that assertion, Your Honor—"

"Then challenge it in the cross or in rebuttal, Ms. Lockhart. Your motion to dismiss is denied." The judge looked between them, continuing. "If there are no more motions, then please bring in the jury." Both lawyers shook their heads, and the judge nodded at the bailiff.

The jury slowly filed in as Sharon and the defense returned to their seats. Sharon watched with interest while the judge began reading off the usual jury instructions as Ms. Lockhart leaned across the still-seated Mr. Stern to say something to the defendant, a pale and shaken looking young man whom Sharon had just noticed.

"Ms. Gleason?"

Judge Schroeder's low growl interrupted Sharon's consideration of the young man. She looked up immediately.

"Your opening statement."

"Oh." Sharon stood, embarrassed at being caught. "Yes, of course." She walked from behind the table to stand before the jury.

"This case," she began quietly, "is not about emotion. Or feelings. Or even intentions. It's about facts." She scanned the jury slowly with her eyes as she spoke and turned to point to the defendant. "On March 6th, 1987, Steven Marks, the defendant, took a knife from a drawer in his girlfriend, Louise Mueller's kitchen and stabbed her five times in the chest. Then he pulled the knife from the body of his victim, wiped it clean, and replaced it in the drawer before fleeing the scene." She turned away from the defendant, pacing slowly in front of the jury. "I could tell you a truly sad tale about the decades of birthdays and Christmases that Steven Marks stole from an innocent 22-year-old girl. I could tell you about the wedding dress she'll never get to wear," Sharon twisted the diamond ring on her finger absently, "the children she'll never have, or the promising career as an artist she'll never pursue." She stopped, facing the jury head-on, looking carefully at each juror in turn. "I could even tell you about the three domestic disturbance calls at Louise Mueller's apartment to which the Chicago Police Department responded in the six months previous to her murder," Sharon whispered darkly. "But that's not what this case is about." She started to pace slowly once more before the jury. "This case is about fact. And the facts are these: Steven Marks stabbed his girlfriend five times in the chest. He left two sets of fingerprints behind. Shoes taken from his residence match the impressions of footprints at the scene. And two independent witnesses state that they overheard a heated argument inside Louise Mueller's apartment on the night in question." Sharon stopped a final time, turning slightly to gaze directly at the defendant while still giving the jury her full attention. "Steven Marks murdered an innocent 22-year-old girl. And he should be held accountable."

Sharon was grateful when the lunch recess was finally called. She was confident in her case, but so far it seemed to be a draw. Ms. Lockhart was proving a formidable opponent. She seemed to be able to be just as calm and detached as Sharon; somehow this woman had been able to weave a tale of emotion and passion for the jury without allowing the emotional vein to make her vulnerable to observers. It was an enviable skill that had unique value for a female lawyer, one in which Sharon was still not confident. Yale Law had been able to teach her nearly everything; but not that.

No sooner had Sharon dropped into the chair before her desk with a wilted-looking salad, than her desk phone began to ring.

"D.D.A. Gleason," Sharon said automatically into the receiver, wedging it between her cheek and shoulder as she opened her salad and poked mournfully at it with a plastic fork.

"Hi, Sharon."

Her heart gave a little flutter and the thumb of her left hand moved absently to rub the small diamond ring on her finger.

"Hi."

"I heard my fancy lawyer fiancée has a big trial today."

Sharon looked around the bull pen deliberately, checking for any listening ears or watchful eyes. There were none; it seemed most of her colleagues had stepped out for lunch. Satisfied that no one was paying attention, she finally smiled warmly into the receiver and replied softly, "You heard correctly."

"So are you winning?"

She chuckled. "Maybe. I definitely have the facts and the law on my side. But this other lawyer is pretty good. She's better than I expected." Sharon picked a little at the pitiful salad on her desk.

"'She,' huh? Mind if I come and watch one afternoon? You know how I love to watch you duke it out with other women."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed heavily into the receiver. "Very funny, David." Dropping the sarcasm, she continued, "You know I'd love for you to come and watch. But there are about twenty-five fourth-graders who would be pretty upset if you abandoned them."

"Oh, alright. Some other time, then."

Sharon could almost feel his cheeky grin through the phone. She was about to tell him off for it when he spoke again.

"Speaking of my favorite women, I've been thinking."

"A dangerous pastime," she replied, grinning.

"I know, but hear me out. Lydia wants to spend some one-on-one time with you."

Her eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"She does. Honestly, I think she just wants to play dress-up with your closet, but I think it's a good idea."

Sharon wasn't so sure. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

"A sleepover. Just you and Lydia. And at least two stuffed animals. I already promised, so that part is non-negotiable."

"David," she began softly into the phone, "you know I love spending time with Lydia. She's lovely. And I would be thrilled to have her over. But I'm not a mother. Are you sure—"

"You are a mother, Sharon. She loves you. And I see how wonderful you are with her. I have absolutely no doubt that you are a mother, even if you don't have children of your own yet. And in a few weeks, you will."

Smiling lightly, Sharon whispered, "In a few weeks, I'll be the evil stepmother."

"Sharon. You're already her mother. No evil, no step. The wedding in a few weeks will just make it official."

They were both quiet.

"I'll bring her by your place at six. You'll have to tell me all about your first murder trial then. Love you."

The door behind Sharon opened at that moment, and several of her fellow prosecutors came through it. So Sharon merely hummed in response to the words. "See you soon."

Sharon hung up the phone quietly, leaving her hand on top of the receiver absently as she thought about David's words. _I__'__m not a mother, _she thought sadly. _But maybe someday I could be. Is this what being a mother feels like? Enjoying the company of a child, wanting her to like me. Caring about her safety and future. It__'__s not the life-altering love I imagined._

Her afternoon was devoted to her main investigatory witness, a detective Stiller. He was thorough and well practiced, and stood up to Lockhart's cross-examination well. But her direct examination had taken over an hour, followed by the defense's detailed cross, and suddenly the afternoon was gone. And it was Friday, so the trial wouldn't resume for several days, which drove Sharon crazy. She hated to leave things hanging like that. Particularly given the unpredictability of juries. But at least they had finished the detective's testimony, and it wouldn't be interrupted by the weekend break.

By the time she made it back to the townhouse that evening, she had barely thirty minutes before David and Lydia were due to arrive. And truth be told, she still had no idea what she and Lydia were going to do this weekend. _What are we going to eat? _

Sharon stepped out of her heels the moment she crossed the threshold, stretching her toes gratefully and slipping them into a little pair of unremarkable house shoes waiting by the door. Her hair came down from its severe bun almost immediately as well. She shed her suit jacket as she climbed the first flight of stairs and came up into the living room. Sharon laid her purse and briefcase near the desk in the corner, draping her jacket over them before dashing around the room quickly and stowing the less-than-child-friendly objects strategically; delicate ornaments found their way to the higher shelves along with a few art books that weren't exactly appropriate. She wiped down the kitchen a little obsessively, scrubbing at imaginary bits of dirt. She'd just pulled a small box stamped _LYDIA_ from a shelf on a closet and set it on the coffee table in the middle of the room when the doorbell rang.

Hurrying down the stairs, Sharon fluffed her newly freed hair slightly with her fingers before opening the door.

David Strayland was tall and handsome, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was of average height, rather lean-looking, and a few years older than she; there were already permanent laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He was standing on her doorstep, face nearly hidden by an enormous and slightly ludicrous stuffed bear he held in his arms. A five-year-old girl was clutching tightly to his pant leg, a much more appropriately sized giraffe in her arms. Lydia was petite for her age, her deceptive size and delicate features belying what Sharon knew to be a talkative, curious, and energetic personality. She stared up at Sharon with round blue eyes identical to her father's and smiled brightly. Her wavy red hair bounced with her as she hopped a little in excitement.

Suddenly, David's face appeared in entirety, coming around the side of the ridiculous stuffed bear in his arms, and Sharon laughed.

"Hello. I believe you ordered a five-year-old girl? She comes with a giant teddy bear, a medium sized giraffe, and a rather charming delivery man." He winked.

"Daddy!" Lydia sighed dramatically. "Stop being so silly."

Giggling slightly, Sharon stepped aside to let them pass. "Well hello. Come in." She lead them up the first flight of stairs into the living room.

"Hey Sharon, Daddy says I get to spend _the whole night _here with you!" Lydia's tiny body seemed to be shaking with anticipation.

Sharon glanced at David coming up the stairs as she replied, "You do." She lifted the huge stuffed bear out of his arms and placed it on the armchair beside them, finally revealing the man behind it.

"Hi."

Lydia was bouncing around the room happily when David leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Sharon's lips.

"Is this for me?! It has my name on it!"

Turning from the kiss after the briefest of moments at the little girl's shriek of delight, Sharon crouched down beside Lydia at the coffee table.

"Yes, that's for you." She pulled the flaps open and showed her the contents of the box, a neatly packed assortment of books and toys. "I know someone who has a daughter a little older than you, and she thought you might like some of these things. I thought we could keep it here until I come to live with you." She smiled and tucked a strand of Lydia's hair affectionately behind the ear. "How would that be?"

Lydia looked into the box happily and nodded energetically, immediately dislodging the strand of red hair once more. "That's good."

Standing up again, Sharon realized that David had come to stand right behind her as she and Lydia had been considering the box on the table. Her back brushed his hip when she rose, and his hand came around her waist softly once she was standing straight once more.

"So how _did_ it go today?" His eyes were serious for the first time since he'd entered, taking her in.

Lydia was pulling toys and books noisily from the box at their feet, generally self-sufficient.

"Fine. Scary. A little sad." She turned into him on her toes, her open palm coming to rest on his chest. "How was your day?"

Rolling his eyes, David replied, "thirty fourth-graders and I did long division until I thought my hand was gonna fall off. Then we watched rice cook and they all wrote about it."

Sharon gave him a skeptical look. "Rice? Really?"

"It's this whole lesson about water molecules and the way they cycle." He brought his other hand around her waist too and pulled her a little closer. "Come on," he pleaded playfully with her. "Tell me about court today. I wanna hear about you duking it out with the other _femme fatale_."

She slapped playfully at his arm. "You've got to stop all that business with the women 'fighting it out,' David. I assure you, the reality is not nearly as sexy as you're imagining."

He smirked. "It is if you're the one doing it."

Blushing slightly, she whacked his arm again and looked pointedly at the little girl playing on the floor three feet away. Speaking seriously again, she began, "The other lawyer is good. Different than I was expecting. I mean, she's trying to bring in all this emotion, which I expected. But it works differently for her than it would for that pig, Stern."

David's eyebrows rose. "Pig? Really?"

"Oh, he's awful. He called me 'sweetheart' during voire dire."

David gasped in mock dismay. "Disgraceful!"

Sharon's eyes snapped to his. "It is, actually. It's misogynistic and belittling to my sex, degrading to my education and—" She stopped, seeing the amusement on his face. "You mock me?"

"I do." He leaned forward to kiss the end of her nose lightly. "But only because you're so darn cute when you get going on that professionalism toward women spiel." His lips met hers again softly for a short moment before they broke apart, conscious of Lydia playing at their feet.

"Are you sure you're okay with having her tonight?" David asked, mildly concerned. "You can say no. You've got a lot on your plate."

"Don't you dare take her away now," she whispered into his ear. "This is just what I need." She stepped away from him. "Now get out of here." She pushed him back to the stairs. "Lydia, your father's leaving," she called over her shoulder.

"Okay." Lydia looked up casually from the pile of toys gathered around her on the floor. She waved quickly. "Bye Daddy." With a smile, she went back to her game unconcernedly.

"That's it?" David asked, looking from Sharon to Lydia in mock confusion. "No hug? No kiss? No 'I'll miss you terribly, Daddy?'"

Sharon watched in amusement as Lydia got to her feet exasperatedly and gave her father a hug and David whispered something into her ear. When they were finished, Lydia looked ready to go back to the floor, but Sharon stopped her.

"I heard you wanted to play a little dress-up." Lydia nodded enthusiastically. "Why don't you run up to my room and see if you can find anything you like? I'll be up there in a minute." Lydia grinned and bounded up the stairs, out of sight.

She turned back to David and walked with him down the stairs to the front door. She reached for his coat, hanging on the wall where he must have left it on the way in. Lydia's was crumpled on the floor by her shoes. Spinning back to face him, she held out his coat and he slipped it on silently with his back to her. When he returned to face her, he opened his mouth to say something. But Sharon cut him off.

"Uh-uh. You talked me into this. We are not backing out now. We have plans, and they don't involve you, so get going, mister." She put her hands on his shoulders and used the leverage to pull herself onto her toes and plant a soft kiss on his lips.

This one lasted longer than the others, no longer hindered with hesitance brought on by the presence of a small child at their feet. She leaned into the kiss, unintentionally backing David into the door behind him. His hands ran up her sides, pulling her closer as her own hands came up on either side of his face, stroking lightly. She felt his tongue flit out slowly as his hands moved around her waist, lightly caressing the small of her back through her blouse. She let out a tiny sigh at the sensation, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, dancing with her own tongue for a moment before retreating once more and breaking the kiss. She lowered herself down onto her heels once more and took a step back.

"I could stay, you know," He breathed faintly, still leaning against the front door.

"No, you couldn't. We made a deal; no sleepovers with Lydia in the house." She reached around him for the door, pulling it open. "Besides. Lydia and I have big plans." Sharon pushed him gently through the open door.

David stepped backwards through the door, grinning at her. "Fine. I'll be back in the morning, and we can finish whatever _that_" he caught her hand and pulled her in for a final quick peck on the mouth, "was."

Sharon smiled. "Fine. Now _go!_" She pushed him down the snow-caked front steps toward the sidewalk. He turned when he reached the bottom and waved.

_Love you_, Sharon mouthed, waving back.

He grinned, shouting back at the top of his lungs, "I love you, too, Sharon Eileen Gleason!"

Blushing, Sharon laughed quietly as she closed and locked the door.

When she made it up the stairs to her room minutes later, the chaos that only a five-year-old girl left alone for six minutes could create met her eyes. Shoes and clothes were strewn everywhere, and the enthusiastic shrieks of a little girl were coming from her open closet door.

"How's it coming in here?" Sharon poked her head into her closet. "Oh, my." Lydia seemed to have appropriated a broomstick skirt as a makeshift ball gown, the waist pulled up under her armpits and pooling on the floor at her feet. She held it up with one hand, the other proudly lifting the skirt to show Sharon the enormous clunky bright red patent leather heels Lydia was somehow managing to stand in. Sharon tried not to laugh at the sight. Lydia was looking at her expectantly.

"Wonderful." She smiled in what she hoped was an admiring fashion and continued, "But I have an idea. Come on over to the bed with me." She backed out of the closet and made her way over to the bed, collecting a few items from her vanity as she passed, finally sitting on the edge of the bed. Lydia followed, shuffling with difficulty across the room, her "ball gown" catching on assorted shoes and clothes in her path, her tiny feet maneuvering strangely in the too-large pumps. When she was close enough to the bed, Sharon took pity on her and lifted her easily onto the bed.

"What are we doing, Sharon?"

"Well, honey," Sharon reached behind her on the bed for the few things she pulled from her vanity moments ago. "I thought those nails looked a little plain." Two bottles of nail polish appeared before the small child's eyes, and her face lit up. "I have red and I have blue."

Lydia considered the choice seriously for a moment. "Red," she said finally.

Smiling faintly at the careful way Lydia had weighed the options, Sharon set the blue bottle aside and began to unscrew the red one. _There__'__s something really wonderful about a life in which the most important decision you have is blue nails versus red ones, _she mused. _And I can appreciate a five-year-old who values the importance of the decision. _

She looked back up at Lydia and pointed at a hand. "Alright. First hand, right here on my lap." She pulled her skirt up a little to reveal her stockinged knees and thighs, bringing Lydia's hand to rest just above her knee. _Nail polish on my stockings I can fix. On my court skirt, however? Less simple._ Sharon removed the brush from the bottle and approached the hand on her leg. "Stay very still, honey."

Lydia nodded calmly and Sharon felt her go stock-still. Smiling softly at the look of concentration on the tiny face, Sharon began to lightly brush the color across Lydia's small nails.

"Jenny at school has painted nails," Lydia said into the relative silence. Sharon hummed in acknowledgement. "Her mommy helps her do them."

They were quiet again. After a moment, Sharon lifted Lydia's other hand onto her knee and continued painting slowly.

"Is that you, Sharon?"

Looking up quickly to see what Lydia was pointing at, Sharon nodded. "Yes. That's my sister, Mary, and me. A long time ago."

Lydia's gaze snapped back to Sharon at those words. "You have a sister?!" Her tiny hand jumped a little on Sharon's knee as she shrieked.

"Careful, sweetheart. Very still." Sharon finished the final tiny nail on her hand, returning the brush to the bottle and screwing it closed. She blew lightly across Lydia's fingers. "I do. I have three of them. And a brother." She continued to blow on Lydia's nails softly as the child digested these words.

"I want a sister someday," Lydia sighed longingly. She looked back over at the photo on Sharon's nightstand. "Can you make my hair do like that, too, Sharon?"

Squinting over at the photo of her much-younger self, Sharon scrutinized the long french braid twisting around the back of her head and hanging over her shoulder. "Yes. I can do that." She scooted back a little on the bed, crossing her legs underneath her body. "Your hands are all set. There's a comb over on my vanity. Bring it over here and I'll do my best for your hair."

Moments later, Lydia crawled into Sharon's lap, back on the bed, and handed her the comb. Gently, Sharon began to drag the comb through the long wavy red hair.

"Is this what Mommies do, Sharon?"

Sharon's hand stopped mid-stroke.

"Some Mothers do, yes." She continued to comb through the hair, hoping her pause of surprise had gone unnoticed. "Turn your head that way, honey." She gently guided Lydia's face to the left and began to section off the hair between her fingers. "Do you think that this is what Mothers do, Lydia?" She started to weave the hair together, moving at a diagonal across her scalp, using the comb to bring up small portions of hair as she incorporated them into the braid.

"I don't know. I've never had a Mommy. Do you do this with your Mommy?"

Having incorporated all the hair, Sharon brought the braid over Lydia's right shoulder.

"Turn towards me, honey. Your whole body. Good, stop right there." She twisted her fingers through the hair, braiding the last two inches or so over the shoulder. "No. I don't do this with my Mother. But I'm grown now." She wound a black hair band around the end of the finished braid. "Do you want this to be what you do with your Mother?"

Lydia was quiet for a moment. Sharon looked on as Lydia scrutinized the woman in front of her with the same gravity and consideration that she'd given the bottles of nail polish earlier.

"Yes."

The sun was rising when Sharon's eyes opened slowly. Her chest felt strangely heavy, and Sharon looked down to find Lydia's tiny sleeping form draped across her torso. The little girl's cheek was pressed into the space between Sharon's breasts, her arms extended across Sharon's body, toward her shoulder. The rest of Lydia's body was sprawled across the bed at a diagonal. Somehow the tiny child was managing to take up more room in the bed than Sharon herself.

Carefully, Sharon slipped from under the child's head and arms, leaving her to sleep while Sharon padded downstairs. Two cups of tea and a banana later, Sharon was wide awake and ready for the day. As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door downstairs.

"Good Morning." David's cheerful face greeted her on the doorstep. "You two awake yet?"

Not altogether surprised to find him there, Sharon replied, "Well I am. Breakfast?"

He followed her closely up the stairs, through the living room and into the tiny kitchen.

Sharon picked her teacup up once more and leaned back against a counter as she watched him maneuver the tight space, making coffee.

"Long time, no see, David," she said, looking at him a little bemusedly over her cup. He opened his mouth to speak, but she waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine." She smirked a little now, giving him a sideways glance. "Wanted to make sure I could handle it?"

He looked a little guiltily over his shoulder at her, finally getting the coffee going. "Yes. I mean… No. Oh, to hell with it." He turned toward her, the small move in the tight space bringing him to stand directly in front of her. "The house was empty. My women were gone. And my book was bad."

Sharon laughed. "You really are that guy, aren't you?" she asked, chuckling.

"What guy?"

"That guy who completely loses all sense of self when _his women_ aren't around."

Grinning, she reached across the gap between them and tugged lightly at the front of his shirt, pulling him toward her. He obliged, backing her up against the counter and lifting the teacup from her hands to put it aside in a single move. Hands on either side of the counter behind her, he leaned over her, resting his forehead against hers lightly.

"Hey," he breathed.

"Hey." She smiled once more at him before snaking a hand behind his neck and bringing him down for a kiss. It started slowly, softly. Her hand on his neck. His beside her hips, leaning on the counter behind her. Soon her hand moved up, twisting itself in his hair as she tilted her head, deepening the kiss. His hands moved from the cold smooth surface of the counter, ghosting across her hips and the small of her back before drifting down the backs of her thighs and suddenly lifting her to sit on the formica behind her, lips never leaving hers. Sharon inhaled sharply at the sudden move, but didn't break away. David continued to kiss her, one hand softly stroking her cheek and hair, the other rubbing tight circles through her nightgown, up and down her ribcage. A little overwhelmed, Sharon hummed softly into his mouth and squeezed his shoulder gently. His lips drifted from hers now, trailing small kisses across her jaw and down to her neck.

"David," she whispered almost inaudibly, "We're supposed to be making breakfast."

He didn't answer, continuing to explore her neck with his lips and tongue.

"We should—" She stopped, letting out an involuntary sound as he found _that spot_. She could feel him smiling against her neck at her reaction before finally pulling back.

"Breakfast, huh?" He smirked and turned away.

Sharon barely had time to do more than stare at him in disbelief before the patter of tiny feet and a shriek of "DADDY!" interrupted them, reducing their morning to a flurry of breakfast activity centered around the tiny child determined to have blueberry pancakes.

She was sad to see them go about an hour later, the enormous bear in David's arms once more, this time also joined by his almost-too-big-daughter on his hip. Pushing aside the bear for a short moment, Sharon managed to give him a quick peck on the lips before herding them out the door, still only in her robe and slippers.

David stepped slowly down the steps and turned back to Sharon still standing in the open door.

"Let me know how your trial goes on Monday." He stepped backward off of the curb, shifting Lydia slightly in his arms as he descended into the icy street. "I'd love to come see—"

WHOOSH. CRUNCH.

The blurred white shape of something metal. Something enormous. A bus. Skidding too fast on the ice.

Red curls flying through the air. A sickening crack of impact with something unforgiving.

A crumpled dark shape caught under a wheel.

Red against the ice.

A prolonged bloodcurdling scream.

Sharon Raydor woke with a start, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound issuing from it. She sat up, breathing heavily and looking around slowly.

_8:27 pm._ It was dark outside, and she was sitting up now on the end of her still-made bed. She looked down and saw she was fully dressed. Her eye caught the white of an envelope on the bed, and it suddenly all came rushing back. The fight. The note. An empty house. Coming back to herself slightly, she suddenly realized Ricky was crying next door.

A flash of that tiny face with those sweet red curls, lying still in a pool of blood beneath a bus nearly blinded her for a moment.

A man. Kissing her. Loving her. Crumpled and mangled in an almost unrecognizable heap.

Sharon nearly sprinted into the hall and across to Ricky's room, roughly lifting her screaming son into her arms and squeezing him tightly.

"You're okay, little man. I'm here. It's okay."

Ricky sobbed harder, and she loosened her hold a little, swaying over to the rocking chair in the corner. She hummed a little as she rocked, rubbing tight circles over his back. She leaned back with her eyes closed, soothing herself in equal measure. His little head resting over her heart, Sharon felt Ricky's breathing even, his sobs quiet. An occasional hiccup startling them both.

Eventually, Ricky fell silent and straightened in her lap, pushing himself off of her torso and gazing up at her.

"Daddy," he said simply.

A single tear flowed down Sharon's cheek at the word.

"I'm sorry, honey. He's not here."

Ricky seemed confused, but didn't say anything more. Sharon hugged him close, ignoring his whimpers of discomfort as she squeezed.

_This is my life. That child, that love. They aren't mine. They aren't even real. _She brushed her lips lightly across the top of Ricky's head. _I don't want 'what-if.' I want this, here._ More tears began to fall, streaming down her face freely, occasionally dripping through Ricky's soft hair. _With all its pain, I need this life. And I will fight for it. _

**Soooo. That was different, huh? Liked it? Hated it? 'Suz, what the hell I can't believe you put me through all that only to kill them off in the last 500 words'? I want to know. So tell me. Because this was definitely out of my comfort zone. For the record, I feel like this chapter is just as important to the story as any other chapter. I feel very strongly that you and I alike need to feel the pain and elation of that other life that Sharon feels in order for what happens next to work. I'm very anxious about posting this chapter, so **_**please**_** let me know what you think. I am interested in YOU!**


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